Rambles In Germany And Italy

RAMBLES

IN

GERMANY AND ITALY,

IN

1840, 1842, AND 1843,

BY

MRS. SHELLEY.

LONDON:

EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET.

KDCCCXLIV.

CONTENTS.

I’AliT I11.--1812 AND 43.

LKlTliU 1.

!'U.\Ot'K .......... 1

LKTTEH IT..

lUU.CIlRN.—BUDWEIS.—LINZ.. . 10

LETTER III.

TIIK TkAt'N.—TIIKOMUNDEN'SKK.—ISHL.—ST. WOLFUANtt LAKE.

— SALZBUIU;.22

LETTER IV.

ENTRANCE TO THE TIROL.—VILLAGE FETE.—PASS STRUfl.-

SWART/.. — INSPUVCK . • . . • . . 37

LETTER V.

THE PASS OF THF. BRKNNKJl. — IIOKKII.—IlttESSANONE.—EGRA.—
TRENT. — RIVA. —LAGO DI GARDA. >—PiU>MONTOKY OF
SlUUlO . . . . . . . . » 4 $

VI

CONTENTS.

LETTER VI. '

TEBOMA. — JODBNEY TO VENICE. — LEONE BUNCO.
C’lTALU

TAGK

HOTEL

. . 74

LETTER VII.

THE DCCAL PALACE.—THE ACCADEHIA DELLE BELLE ABTI . P2

LETTER vm.

CntESA DE’ FKAEI.—SAN GIORGIO MAGGIORE.— SANTA MARIA
DELLA SALUTE.—LIDO.—THE GIODECCA.—THE FONDA-
MBNTI NDOVI.—THE ISLANDS.—THE ARMENIAN CONVENT 92

LETTER IX.

FREE PORT.—VENETIAN SOCIETY.—TITLES OK THE NOBILITY.—

THE DOTTI.—INFANT SCHOOL. 103

LETTER X.

VENETIAN PALACES.—GONOOLIEBI.—BASILICA OP ST. HARK.—

OPERA.—ILLUMINATION OP THE VENICE . . . . 119

LETTER XI.

JOURNEY TO FLORENCE.—COLD AND RAINY SEASON.—EXCUR¬
SION TO VALLOHDROSA.131

IJITTER Xll.

ART AT FLORENCE.—COSIMO BOSSELLI.—GHIRLANDAJO.—BEATO

PRA ANGELICO.—POCCEITl LATER FLORENTINE SCHOOL 140

LETTER xm.

THE GALLERY.—PALAZZO PITTI.—LE BELLE ABTI.—PORTRAIT

OP DANTE.—THE CHURCHES.152

LETTER XIV.

THE CABBONARl

161

CONTENTS. VU

■ LETTER XV. „„

Ti;gCANY. 181

• 0

LETTER XVI.

ITALIAN LITERATURE.—UANZONI. — NICCULINI.—COLLETTA.—

AHARI. 190

LETTER XVIl.

VOVA(!K TO ROME .. 212

LETTER XVIII.

RAFFAELLE AT UOHF.. 216

LET,TER XIX.

RUINS OF ROME.—THE ROLY WEEK.—MUSIC AND ILLUMINA¬
TIONS . 225

LETTER XX.

THE WINTIFICAL STATES. 234

CHAPTER XXI.

INSURRECTION OF 1831, AND OCCUPATION OF ANCONA BY
THE FRENCH. 249

LETTER XXII.

SORRENTO—CAPRI.—POMPEII. 262

LETTER XXIII.

EXCURSION TO AMALFI. 280

RAMBLES

IN

GERMANY AND ITALY.

PART III.—1842.

LETTER I.

PRAGUE.

TnuKSDAT, 1st September, 1842.
Stkange and wild legends appertain to Prague,
and people the heights that overhang the city. The
Bohemians are of Sclavonian race; they were in
early times fire-worshippers, and offered victims to
their divinity on the Laurenzi Berg, which rises
behind the town. On the Hradschin, an eminence
that frowns above the Moldau, was built the palace
of the old Bohemian kings; and the metropolitan
church of Prague stands in the palace-yard, on the
highest point of the imperial hill.

The most prosperous period for Prague was the
reign of the Emperor Charles IV. He appears in
vot. II. B

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

no favourable light in the pages of Italian history;
but he won immortal and deserved renown as King
of Bohemia, by his acts of magnificence, and the
liberality and sagacity of his government. He caused
the Neustadt to be built, marking the width and
termination of the streets, and leaving the spaces to
be filled up by private individuals, on whom great
privileges were bestowed: the size of the streets and
open areas interspersed, give it a noble distinc¬
tion among the ill-built towns of the middle ages.
Churches and convents rose around. He built also the
grand'old Bridge, which sjlans the broad and curved
stream of the Moldau, and he founded the Uni¬
versity, which long vied with Paris and Oxford in
celebrity.

The earliest Reformers sprung up in Prague. John
Huss was rector of the University: his tenets were
the source of that independent and Protestant spirit
which then first began to undermine the Roman
Catholic faith. In early times, the Church of
Bohemia obtained from the Council of Basle, that
the sacramental cup should be administered to the
laity; and this of itself was a broad distinction between
Catholic Bohemia and the rest of the Papal world.

Although John Huss died at the stake, his
influence continued high in his country, where he
was reverenced as a saint. The Bohemians, loving

AND ITALY.

3

their own. language and their own customs—a saga¬
cious and intelligent race—^were well pleased with any
state of things that should conduce to separate them
more widely from the surrounding German nations.

The time came w'hen they were to fall. When
the rest of Europe was in darkness'and enslaved,
Bohemia had a pure religion and free institutions:
now it is but a province of Austria, and there are not
one hundred Protestants in the country. The Em¬
peror Mathias first endeavoured to ujiroot its liberty,
and the Jesuits had been established, to counter¬
balance, by their insidiohs system of encroachment,
the influence openly possessed by the Protestants.
This state of things could not last. The Emperor
supported Catholicism, and wished to assimilate
Bohemia to his Austrian provinces in language, laws
and religion: the national Diet endeavoured to pre¬
serve their country as a distinct kingdom. The
Emperor insisted on naming his successor, in the
person of his brother Perdinand: the crown had
hitherto been elective, and the nobles resolved to
preserve their rights. On the death of Mathias, they
called to the throne the Elector Palatine, a Calvinist:
the Emperor Perdinand claimed the country as his
own, and invaded it.

Pot one year, Elizabeth of England held a gay and
chivalrous couit in Prague. Had her husband been

B 2

4 RAMBIES IN GERMANY

a statesman and a soldier, he might have disciplined
his brave, enthusiastic subjects, and have repulsed
the invasion of Austria. He was vanquished in-
gloriously, and, forced to fly from the city, he became
a wanderer and an exile. Ferdinand triumphed;
but a collision between his pretensions and the free
institutions of Bohemia was inevitable. The nobles
resisted the Emperor^s edicts, and tossed his commis¬
sioners out of the Avindows of the Green Chamber of
the palace. This act was the first deed of violence
of the thirty years’ war, which hence began, nor ended
till all Germany was devastated, andBohemia enslaved.

We set out on a biief drive round the town, to
view the spots where these scenes had taken place.
Leaving our hotel, we pas-sed through the crowded
and trading Alstadt, and crossed the bridge which
connects the Klein Seite with the city. On this stands
the statue of St. John Nepomuk, who, the legend says,
was thrown from that spot into the Moldau below,
for refusing to betray to Wcnceslaus IV. secrets
confided to him by his Queen in the confessional,
A constellation of five stars was observed to hover
over the watei’, exciting the curiosity and terror of the
pious; so that at last the river was dragged; the
body of the saint was found, and received honourable
interment—^though not canonization until some cen¬
turies after. Such is the legend; but the true

AND ITALY.

history of this saint, as Mr. Reeve* relates it, differs
materially, and is curious. He tells us, he perished
a martyr to church reform:—“ During the contests
between Wcnceslaus IV. and the then Archbishop of
Prague (John of Genzstein, afterwards Patriarch of
Alexandria), with regard to certain matters of church
property, the prelate was vigorously supported by
his Vicar-General, Johanko von Pomuk, upon whom
the King wreaked his vengeance; and the spot is
still shewn where he was thrown into the river. This
event took place in 1381, and was soon forgotten by
the people. Time, however, rolled on; John lluss
perished in the flames at Constance, and, as' his
schism was followed by the larger portion of the
Bohemian nation, St. John Huss became an object
of poj)ular reverence. I have seen hymns in his
honour, which were sung in chui'chcs even tow'ards
the close of the sixteenth centui'y. But when the
Jesuits were installed at Prague, to extirpate th(!
Bohemian heresies, they found it useful to have
a St. John of their own. The legend of St. John
Nepomuk was invented; his relics were shewn; an

• In preparing these letters for the press, I have consulted some
papers entitled “ Sketches of Bohemia and the Selavonism Provinces of
the Austrian Empire,*’ by Henry Reeve, published in the

18th and lOih vols. of the Metropolitan Magazine. They are
admirably written, and it is greatly to be regretted that they do not
proceed to a greater length, and are lost in a Magazine.

») RAMBLES IN GERMANY

epic poem, the Ncpomuccidon, was composed by
the Jesuit Percicus in his honour in 1729; he was
canonized, and his fame spread with amazing rapidity
throughout the Catholic Church. These honours
arc now so intimately connected with the system in
which they originated, that I once heard a distin¬
guished Bohemian declare that no good could befal
his country till St. John Nepomuk was once more
thrown into the Moldau.^’ Meanwhile, he has become
the guardian saint of bridges; his statue, surmounted
by the image of the live miraculous stare, in a more
or less rude form, finds a place on almost every
bridge of Catholic Germany, as it docs here on the
Bridge of Prague—on the very spot whence he was
thrown.

In the Klein Seite the nobles had their palaces, and
we saw that of the princely Wallenstein: " coiled as
it were round the foot of the imperial rock,” * to make
room for which a hundred humbler houses were
rased. Wallenstein, who had arrived at mid life in
comparative obscurity, first came forward in a con¬
spicuous manner in the Bohemian war. His immense
riches were principally derived fi’om the confiscations
of the expelled and exiled Hussites. When some
years after his command was taken from him, he
built this palace, where he lived in princely gran-

* Mr. Reeve.

AND ITALY.

dfiur, feeding liis imagination with dreams of yet
higher glory, ministered to him by Seni the astro¬
loger. It was in early life, during his residence at
the University of Padua, that Wallenstein first heard
from the Professor Argoh that the stars above echoed
the cherished dreams of his own heart., There is no
trace, we are told, that Wallenstein ever followed any
particular dhcctious emanating from the stars *;
but the knowledge that they j)rcdicted greatness
biased his imagination, strengthened his resolutions,
and made him boldly enter on a career from which
a man of lowlier hopes had shrunk.

The stai's foretold greatness to Wallenstein ; did
they foretell, obscurely, so that he could not decipher
their true meaning, that he should obtain that, the
want of which made Alexander weep—a poet to
illustrate his deeds? This greatness was perhaps
written in the staiTy scroll, whose real meaning he
could not decipher, and so aimed at a success that
ended in defeat, but which, by means of Schiller,
has become immortal glory. Such lights as well as
shadow's lure us on under the form of regarded or
despised presentiments.

** I wouKl not call them
Voices of ^ming that aniiounce to us
Only the incvitahlc.”

* Life of Wallenstein by Colonel Mitchell.

8

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Wallenstein has been pecubarly fortunate in
having two poets; for Coleridge’s translation of
Schiller’s tragedy, giving the German poetry an
English poetic form, causes him to belong to both
countries.

Dark shadows for centuries have obscured the
name of Wallenstein; amidst the uncertain there is
enough of certain to form a hero both in good and
ill; but the chief good, which places him side by
side with his illustrious rival, Gustavus Adolphus,
was his religious toleration, in an age of bitter, cruel,
unrelenting religious j)crsccution.

Passing this extensive palace, we ascended the
height on which the Hradschin is situated; old
princely Prague, the native city of the savage Ziska,
of the martyred Huss, and of generations of resolute,
free, and noble citizens, lay beneath in sleepy decay.
It is impossible not to ponder upon the world’s fate.
Had the Prince Palatine been a hero; had Wallenstein,
by birth a Bohemian, not fallen in his youth into the
hands of the Jesuits; had he grown u]) as he was
baptized, a Lutheran, would not Bohemia have been
able to maintain its pohtical and religious liberty!
Would not the thirty years’ war have been crushed
in the egg ? would not Germany, which has never
recovci’cd the devastation and massacres of that
period, have continued flourishing and become free ?

AND ITALY,

and might the Huguenots, so supported, not have
been quite emshed in France, ^

But Frederick was an empty coward, Wallenstein
a pupil of the Jesuits, and the world is as it is.

Our coachman went a little out of his way up the
river, to shew us where a suspension bridge is hung
across the Moldau; but disdaining the modem in¬
vention, we caused the horses’ heads to be turned,
and rccrossed the bridge of St, John Nejwmuk,
that we might view the traces of the bombardment
of the gate by the Swedes; the defaced ornaments
and battered ap])earance still recall that time. 1
was very sony to see no more, but though thus
an outside view was all I caught of this ])icturesqne
and ancient city,—its mosque-like churches, the dark
pile of the old royal j)alacc, its deserted mansions, and
noble river, form a living scene in my memory never
to be effaced, “ The day we come to a jdace, wliich
we have long heard and read of, is an era in our
lives; from that moment the very name calls up a
picture.”* The stilly evening shed golden rays over
dome, tower, and minaret, and brightened the wide
waters of the river. I returned with regret to our
hotel.

* Rogers's “ Italy.”

B 3

10

KAMBLE8 IN GEKMANY

LETTEU II.

MUlcheD.~Budwci8»-»l4tiz.

Fbidat, Sept. 2.

We hired a lohn-kutscher to take us to Bndweis—
about sixty miles—which was to occupy two days; for
this we arc to pay, iucluding drink-ffdt, forty-four
florins. I ought to mention, that the coachman
w'ho took us from Dresden to Prague, refunded the
overcharge of two thalers made by the fellow em¬
ployed by him to take us through the Saxon Swit¬
zerland.

1 must tell you that the Germans look down on
the voituriers as people of the lowest grade of society.
One Gennan master at Kissingen, who made the
bargain with the man who took us to Lcipsic,
actually spoke to him with the er —^thc third person
singular—^than which no greater insult can be ima¬
gined. These distinctions are droll, varjing as they
do in different countiies. The Germans do not
address each other with the plural you, as is our
custom: thou denotes affection and familiarity. The

AND ITALY.

11

common mode of speaking to friends, acquaintances,
servants, shopkeepers—^to everybody indeed—is the
third person plural, sic, they; your own dog you
treat with the du, thouj the dog of your enemy
ivith er, or he. The Germans have a habit of
staring quite inconceivable—I speakj of course, of
the people one chances to meet travelling as we do.
For instance, in the common room of an hotel, if a
man or woman there have nothing else to do, they
will fix their eyes on you, and never take them off
for an hour or more. There is nothing rude in their
gaze, nothing pai-ticularly inquiring, though you
suppose it must result from cm'iosity; perhaps it docs;
but their eyes follow you with {)citinacity, without
any change of expression. At Rabenau, and otlier
country j)laccs, tlie little urchins would congregate
from the ncighbom’ing cottages, follow us about, uji
the hills, and beside the waterfall, form a ring and
stare. A magic word to get rid of them is vei-y
desirable; here it is—ask one of them, “Was will
er?" “What does/<e want?” Tlie cr is in'csistible—
the little WTctches feel the insult to their very back¬
bone, and make off at once. That the hitchers en¬
dure the eris astonishing. I could not address them
so; for surely it is the excess of inhumanity as well as
insolence to use a fonn of speech that denotes con¬
tempt to persons who have never offended yon. With

13 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

the starers it is othci-wise ; they do offend grievously,
and one has a full right to get rid of them at almost
any eost. 1 will j ust add, that except the under-driver
who had charge of us during our tom: through the
Saxon Switzerland, we have not had reason to com¬
plain of our German hutchers— nor any reason to be
pleased; they are quiet to sullenness; never gave up
a point; and never seemed to care whether we were
pleased or not. However, under this sort of sulky
a])atliy there lurked an aptitude for getting into the
most violent rage, if their pockets arc touched, wliich
was verjf startling, as compvred with the ahscnce of
all ex])ressiou of kindly feeling.

We set out from Prague in the moniing, not
quite as early as we ought, which disturbed the
order of our travelling—a fact difficult to instil into
the minds of some travellers,—but in voiturier tra¬
velling the whole comfort depends on an early de¬
parture. It seems that if a certain portion of work,
with certain rests, arc to occupy the day, it docs not
much matter how these arc portioned out. It is
not so; and experience shows an early departure in
the morning and an early arrival in the evening to
be the only arrangement that makes this method of
travelling at all comfortable. We set out late, and
we had a carriage provided, uncomfortable from its
extreme smallness; it was, indeed, a mere hack

AND ITALY. J3

drosky, taken from the streets j one person only
could sit outside, and four were exceedingly confined
for room inside.

The weather continued fine and wai’m; and now
in the heart of Bohemia, we looked inquiringly
abroad to sec how a j)ortion of earth, with a name
sounding to our western ears strange and even
mysterious, differed from any other. We saw few
distinctions—the villages were low-built and dirty;
the towns rather pleasing in their appearance, looking
airy, with a Large square or market-place in the midst,
surrounded by low white»houses. Hill and dale sur¬
rounded us, consisting of a good deal of pasture j but
the circumstance that chiefly struck us was, that we
saw not a trace of the residence of any landed pro¬
prietor, no chateau, no country seat, no park, nor
garden. We saw no house which any but a peasant,
or in the. infrctiucnt towns, that any but one in an
under grade of life, could inhabit. I cannot in my
ignorance explain either the meaning or results of this
state of things. Perhaps it arises from the circurn*
stance, that the domains of the Bohemian nobility arc
so large that they arc rather small tributaiy states.*
The nobles possess ample privileges; and some
among them, who belong to the old native families,
are truly patriotic, and devote themselves to the good

♦ Mr. Reeve.

14 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

of their tenants, who are almost their subjeets ; but
Prince Swarzenberg and Prince Mcttemich, who are
among the richest landed proprietors of the province,
are ecrtainly absentees; and probably the list of such
is considerable. However this may be, and what¬
ever may be,the cause, we looked out eagerly, as
we crawled slowly along, for traces of the habita¬
tions of gentry—a race more important often to the
})rospcrity of a country than the nobdity—but w’e
saw none.

We expected to sleep at Tabor—our kutcher
had so designed, but oui- late setting out changed
his views. This annoyed us; and one of our party,
familiar with German—of no gi-eat use, since the
man was a Bohemian—sat by him and gave him
kirch-wasser and cigar.s, and used what verbal
eloquence he could, to persuade him that we might
get on to Tabor. The man drank the kirch-wasser,
smoked the cigars, and said nothing; while we
hoped, in accoi’dance to the old saying, that silence
gave consent. At about ten o’clock we airived at a
miserable-looking village, with a worse-looking inn
—such as carters and ivaggoners might frequent.
With difficulty, for the entrance was encumbered
and tortuous, we entered the court-yard. We sat in
silent despair; but it was necessaiy to peld. I was
taken up a broken staircase to a barn-looking room,

AND ITALY.

15

With a number of beds in it—^it was the only
sleeping-room. A handsome, proud-looking girl,
the daughter of the house, with a hand-maiden
under her, began to arrange my bed. The people
in the south of Germany are not disinclined, when
generou-s, to give you a clean under slicct ; but the
upper one is double and encases the quilt, and this
they do not think it nccessaiy to change, I sum¬
moned all my German, consisting but of single
words; schmuzig, oi- dirty, applied to the sheet,
made the girl angry; but, on my insisting on
having another, slie coiftplied with the air of an
offended empress. My maid sl(‘])t in the same
room. I never dared ask how my companions
passed the night—^the beds wci-e taken for them out
of iny room. However, they got an excellent
supper (of which I was too tired to partake) of
venison—not a common thing in Bohemia; for
usually we only got a disastrous huhn (a fowl),
rather drier and tougher than deal chips. The
name of this village ivas Miilchen. Our bill was
six florins and a half. I mention these prices; for
they show, as they vary from one end of Germany
to another, sometimes the value of money, some¬
times the inclination to extort. The schein money
still continues; so you will understand that a bill
was brought in for more than sixteen florins, which.

16 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

multiplying by two and dividing by five, we reduced
to the real demand in florins Miinz. This sort of
currency probably springs from the Austrian money
introduced by conquest being of too high value for
the poverty of Bohemia, who adhered to their own
inferior coin, with a new name.

The jieoydc of Bohonuia, such as we saw them, are
better-looking than the jicasantry of those parts of
Germany which we had visited; but there is nothing
j)articularly attractive about them. It is impossible,
however, to judge fairly even of the surface of a
people whose language o.ic does not understand.
The Bohemians do not exi)ect to be understood by
strang(!rs, imless they can themselves speak German;
and they are too lilllc! conversant ivith foreigners to
take any soi-t of interest in them. Their manner was
abiupt and decided, with a inLvturc of sullen disdain:
dirty enough they arc, and very poor. The Bohe¬
mians arc, indeed, singularly cut oil' from the rest of
the earth. Their language is exclusively their own—
not understood beyond the boundaiy. Except to
visit Prague, and one or two of their Baths, no
strangers enter their comitry. From what I can
gather, they bear the mai-ks of a conquered people,
adhering to the customs and practices of their fore¬
fathers, forgotten everywhere else—satisfied with
themselves—averse to improvement, which, indeed.

AND ITALY.

]-

has no avenue by whieh to rcaeh them—they re¬
member that they were once free, though they have
forgotten that they were Protestants.

3o Septsmbeb.

We still proceeded, not a little .weary—the
dro.tktf was so very uueouifortablc—over hill and
dale, and through miserable villages, or now and
then a larger town, with its wide squai’e and long
range of low houses. W’c, stop])ed at a better-
looking inn than that of Wiilchcu for our mid-day
meal, but fared worse; the only thing they could
give us was the unfortunate hulin, against which we
had made many violent resolutions, and now entered
many vain ju’otests; this, and the absence of bread—
for I cannot give that name to the sour, black,
damp, uneatable substauce they brought as such—
made our meals very like a Barmecide fea.st. Nor
was the table graced with clean linen; but to this
we had become painfully accustomed.

We rolled on. The weather was beautiful; the
country was pleasing without being striking.

The day’s journey was long; we entered Budweis
late, by moonlight. This is a large town; and by
this light, there was something singular in the
appearance of its extensive market-place, smTOunded
by arcades. The Goldenc Sonne is marked by

18 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Murray as good, and we had no reas'on to alter
this decision. The hostess was a tall, lai’ge woman,
of resolute and abrupt manners; she spoke German
readily, and, uncommon in Germany, served us with
expedition, hut with an authoritative and con¬
descending manner, which amused us very much.

Wc inquired, and found that there was no loco¬
motive on the railroad, that it was drawn by horses;
that it set out at three in the morning, and that we
should reach Linz the next day. Wc sent to take
our places, and made a great mistake in not securing
an “ exclusive extra” as .the Americans call it—^a
coach and horse all to ourselves, which we might
have obtained at a slight extra ex])cnsc, and wc
should have been ])erfcctly comfortable. Our five
places cost fifteen florins, and wc had to pay seven
extra for luggage; which, considering the quantity
wc had, was dear. Our bill at Budweis for supper
and beds, and a cuji of coffee in the morning, was
eleven florins—^nearly double the bill at Miilchcn,
and, comj)arcd even with Prague, dear.

SePTEJiBEn 4Ta.

We did not go to bed till ueaidy twelve. We
were to rise at two; and at the blast of a trumpet
wc were awakened. You must know, besides its
glass, Prague is famous for the manufacture of brass

AND ITALY.

19

wind instruments, and P— bouglit a trampet for
sixteen florins (thirty-two shillings): to prevent all
possibility of any of the party not shaking oflF
slumber at the right moment, he blew a blast which
must have astonished all the sleepers in the inn.

We again traversed the ghostly-locdcing white
market-place of Budweis by the light of the unset
moon, and took our places in one of the carriages on
the railroad. Day .soon struggled through the shades
of night, quenched the moonbeams, and disclosed the
face of earth. 1 never recollect a more delightful diive
than the himdred miles botween Budweis and Linz:
each hour the scene gains in beauty—^from fertile and
agreeable, it becomes interesting, tlicn pictm'csque ;
and at last it presents a combination of beauty w'hich
I never saw ecjualled. I huiTy over the mile.s, as our
carriageswere hxirried along the railroad, which having
an inclination down toward Linz, went very fast—I
hurry on, and speak briefly of the ever-varying pano¬
rama of distant mountain, wood-clothed upland and
fertile plain, all gay in sunshine, which we commanded
as we w'cre whirled along the brink of a chain of hills.

I never can forget the glorious sunset of that evening.
We were on the height of a mountain,

** At wliosc vcidaut feet
A spacious plain, outstretclieU in circuit wide,

Lay pleasant.*’—*

* Paradise Regained.

20

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

As wc descended towards Linz, the sun dropped low
in the heavens. The prospect was extensive; varied
by the lines of wooded hills and majestic mountains,
and towering above, on the horizon, was stretched the
range of the Salzbiu’g and Stjodan Alps. The Danube
wound through the varied plain below; the town
of Linz was upon the banks, and a bridge spanned
the river; above, it swept under high j)rcci])ices—
below, it flowed majestically on: its ghttering waves
were seen afar giving that life and sublimity to
the landscape which it never acquires without the
addition of ocean, lake, or river—water, in short, in
some magnificent form. Golden and crimson, the
clouds waited on the sun, tiow' ilazzling in brightness;
and now', as that sunk behind the far horizon, stretch¬
ing away in fainter and fainter hues, reflected by
the broad river below. The town of Linz was a point
or resting jflace for the eye, which added much to
the harmony and j)crfcctiou of the landscape. I
held my breath to look. My heart had filled to the
brim with delight, as, sitting on a rock by the lake
of Como, I had w'atched the sunlight climb the
craggy mountains opposite. Tlic effect of this even¬
ing—when instead of up, 1 looked djovnn on a wide¬
spread scene of glorious beauty, was diflerent; yet
so poor is language, that 1 know not how to paint
the difierence in words. I had never before been

AXD ITALY.

21

aware of all the awe the spirit feels when we are
taken to a mountain top, and behold the earth
spread out fair at our feet; nor of the delight a
traveller reeeives when, at the close of a day’s travel,
he—

Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill,

Which, to his eye, discovers unawares
The goodly prospect of some foreign land
First seen; or some renowned metropolis,

AVith glistening spites and pinnacles adorned,

Which now the setting sun gilds with his beams.” *

It was dark when we descended into the town:
as wc crossed the bridge, the waters of the Danube
gleamed h<‘neath the hills.

We re])aircd to the hotel of tlu? Gf)ldcner Liiwe,
which we find comfortable and good.

* Milton. Do these lines, in tho ** INiradise Lost,” refer in the
poet's mind lo his first view of Florence ? It seems very probable.

22

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER III.

Tlic Trauij.—-The (Jmundcn-Rcc.—Islil.—Rt. Wolfjjang Lake.—-
Sal/burg.

Monday, September 5th.

The train of tlic railroad started at two in the
afternoon for Gmnuden: we thus liad a few hours
to s])are. One of our ‘party climbed the heights
above Linz, to feast his eyes on the view which had
enchanted me the preceding evening. There is no
circumstance in travelling, consequent on my narrow
means, that I I’cgret so much, as my being obliged to
deny myself hiring a caniage when I arrive at a
strange town, and the not being able, to diive about
everywhere, and sec everything. I wandered about
the town, and stood long on the bridge, drinking in
the beauty of the scene, till the soul became full
to the brim with the sense of delight. The river is
indeed magnificent; with .sjrecd, yet with a vast¬
ness that lenders speed majestic, it himries on
the course assigned to it by the Creator. Never,
never had 1 so much enjoj'cd the gloiy of earth.
The Danube gives Linz a superiority over a thou-

AND ITALY.

23

sand scenes otherwise of equal beauty. Standing
on the bridge, above is a narrow pass, hedged^ in
by high sombre rocks, and the river sweeps,
darkening as it goes, beneath the gloomy shadows
of the precipices; below, it flows in a mighty
stream through a valley of wide expanse, till you
lose sight of it at the base of distant moun¬
tains. I should liked to have stayed some days at
Linz: I gi’ievcd also not to be going by steam to
Vienna.

Our drive by the railroad to Gmunden was
delightful. We had a littleUarriagc to ourselves. Our
road lay through a valley watered by a stream, and
adorned by woods; it wus a sequestered home-felt
scene; while the high distant mountains redeemed it
from tameness. After the sandy deserts of Prussia,
and the bumt-up countr)' round Dresden, the
freshness and gi'cen of a j)astoral valley, the
murmur of streams and rivulets, the delightful
umbrage of the trees, imparted a sense of peace and
amenity that la])ped me in Elysium. We ehanged
the train at Lambach, a quiet shady village. We
had bargained that we should be allowed to
visit the falls of the Traun on our way. It was
evening before we reached the spot, and the falls arc
nearly a mile fi-om the road; we had no guide, but
were told we could not miss the way. Our path lify

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

2J.

through a wood, and as twilight deepened we some¬
times doubted whether we had not gone astray
through the gloom of the thicket. You know that a
mile of unknown road, with some suspicion hovering
in the mind as to whether you are in the right path,
becomes at least three, or rather one feels as if it
would never end. We came at last to the brink of
the precipice above the river, and descended by steps
cut in the rock. AYe thus reached the lower part of
the fall. With some difficulty, it being so late, the
Miller was found, and meanwhile we clambered to the
points of rock from which the cascade is viewed. It
was dim twilight, with the moon quietly moving
among the summer clouds, and shedding its silver
on the M'atcrs. Tlic river winding above through a
w(K)ded ravine comes to an abrupt rocky descent, over
which it falls with foam and spray. The drought had
reduced the supply of water j a jwrtion also is carried
off for the purpose of traffic—a wooden canal being
constructed to allow the salt barges to ascend and
descend the Traun without interruption from the
cascade. This canal is on an inclined plain, and it
would be very delightful to nish dow'ii: we could
not, as there was no boat; but for six swanzikers (six
eightpences) the sluices were shut and the water,
blocked up, turned to feed and augment the fall.
The evening hour took from the accuracy of our

AND ITALY.

25

view, but added immeasurably to its charm; the
mysterious glittering of the spray beneath the
moon; the deep shadows of the rocks and trees ;
the soft*hir and dashing waters—^hcre was the reward
for infinite fatigue and inconvenience; here we
grasped an hour which, when the memory of every
discomfort has become almost a pleasm-e, will endure
as one of the sweetest in life. Our carriage all the
time was waiting for us by the road-side, so we tore
ourselves away. We procured a boy with a lantern
to guide us on our return through the wood; and,
reaching the road, away,we sped along the rails.
Our moonht view, as we went, was pregnant witl)
a sense of placid enjoyment, being ])icturcsquc but
gentle in its features of wood, village, and glimmer¬
ing stream; while the dark and gloomy Traunstcin
rose frowning before our path. We reached Gmun-
*den late, and found a very comfortable inn; it had
a com’t in the middle and an open balcony on the
different floors, into which a number of cell-like rooms
opened. AVe had a good supper of fish from the
lake, and the comfortable promise of a steam-boat
at eleven the next morning; so there was no need
for anxiety with regard to early rising.

VOL. II.

c

26

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Seftembeb 6th.

We fared sumptuously this morning on fish and
game; our bill was therefore comparatively high—
thirteen florins; it had been the same at Linz. The
cost of the raih’oad to Gmunden, for which we had a
carriage for foitr to ourselves and a place in one of
the diligences of the train for my maid, was thirteen
florins; we had to pay three extra for our luggage.

But enough of these matters. Now for another
scene, which will ever dwell in my memory, coloured
by the softest tints, yet sublime—the lake of Gmun¬
den. As the steamer carried us away from the town,
which appeared noisy and busy after Bohemia, we
might believe that we broke our link with mlgar earth
—the waters spread out before us so solitary, so tran¬
quil. The lofty crags of the Traunstcin rose on our
left—bare, abrupt, and dark—awhile the sunlight
varied its shadows as we moved on; opposite, the
lake was bounded by grassy hills, speckled with
villages and spires, with here and there a cove, half
shut in by precipitous rocks, half accessible through
shady thickets, with green sloping sward domi to
the water’s edge. These bays had a sequestered
appearance, as if the foot of man had never dese¬
crated their loneliness. By one of those imcxplain-
able impulses of the mind, which spring up spon-

AND ITALY.

27

taneously and unlocked for, a sense of the beauty
of the Greek mythology was awakened in me, moic
vivid, more real than I had ever before experienced.
As the poet* says, I could, while looking

** On that pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn

of dryad hiding among the trees; of nymph
gazing at her own beauty in the lucid wave; of an
immortal race—in short, tin; innocent oflFspring of
nature, whose existence was love and enjoyment;
who, freed from the primscval curse, might haunt this
solitary spot. Why should not such be? If the
earthly scales fell from our eyes, should we not per¬
ceive that “all the regions of nature swarm with
spirits, and affirm, with Milton, that—

Millions of spiritual creaturos \c^lk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when wo sleep.”

It is easier for the imagination to conjure such up
in sj)ots untrod by man, so to people with love and
gi-atitudc what would otherwise be an unsentient
desert. Not that I would throw contempt on the
pleasmes of the animal creation, nor even on those
of tree, or herb, or flower, which merely enjoys a
conscious life, and in its pride of beauty feels happy,
and, as it decays, peacefully resigns existence. But
this docs not satisfy us, who are bom to look beyond

c 2

• Wordsworth.

*1* Addison.

28

RAMBLES IN OEKMAXV

the grave, and yearn to acquire knowledge of spiri¬
tual essences.

I cannot tell you the sacred plcasui-c with which I
brooded over these fancies, which were rather sensa¬
tions than thoughts, so heartfelt and mtiinate were
they. I scarce dared breathe, and longed to linger
on our way, so not .so quickly to put from my lips
the draughts of happiness which I imbibed.

You may remember that this was the spot that
poor Sir Humphry Davy visited during his last
painfid illness: many hours he beguiled fishing in
the streams that fall into, the lake. Happy, or in
sorrow, 1 hope to rctuni, and spend a summer
in this neighbourhood: joy would be more than
doubled, and grief softened into resignation, amidst
scenes which, among many beautiful, excrci.sed a
power over my imagination I never felt before.
How deeply I regret not having spent the season
here instead of at Kissingen and Dresden; but last
summer in Wales so blended the idea of deluges of
rain with mountain scenery, that the search of
health, a wish to sec some friends, and a longing to
behold strange cities, made us prefer the North.
Regret is useless now'. Shall I ever have a sunny
summer, when I may choose at will a retreat ? If I
have, it will be spent here.

The scenery round the lake increased in wildness

AND ITALY.

29

and sublimity as wc lost sight of Gmundcn. I was
veiy Sony when our onc-liour’s voyage was over,^ard
wc landed at Ebensce. Here a sort of large car
waited for the passengers, and wc drove up a wooded
glen, through which the Traun flowed—a mountain
torrent, broken by rocks—to Ishl. This»is a fashion¬
able bathing-placc: it is situated in a deep valley,
surrounded by hills; though beautiful, it had not
the charm of the scenes we had just left; indeed, a
lake amidst mountains must always exceed a grassy
valley : there is a magic charm in the notion of a
cot on the verdant, woodod banks of a lonely lake—
the boat drawn u]) in a neighbouring cove—tlic shel¬
tering mountains gathering around. However, Islil
presents e\e(dlent head-(]uarter.s for exem’sions in
this neiglilionrhood.

Wc here seriously discus.scd our future progress.
A desire to visit an Italian lake, as yet unknown,
made us select tlic llremier pass and the Lago di
Garda for our entrance into the Peninsula. The
extreme beauty of the country in which we are, makes
us desire to see as much of it as possible; and various
names, the lake of Hallstadt and Bad Gastcin, hung
before, to Im’e us towards them. But we cannot
linger; and, on making inquiries, it seems that,
unless wc make excursions perfectly independent of
our ultimate bourne, ive cannot visit these spots,—

30 BAMBLES IN eUBMANY

in short, that to do so we ought to spend a
summer, choosing some head-quarters, from which
to diverge in diflercnt radii; hut that to go to
Venice, we must abide by a known and frequented
road.

I gave up the idea of a prolonged stay in this
neighbourhood with exceeding regret; but when
resolved to proceed, many difficulties presented
themselves. The people of the hotel at Ishl, which
was large, new, clean, and good, but at the moment
nearly empty, were resolved that we should spend
at least one night there, and neither post-horses
with caniage, nor voifuriers, could be procured,—
being a fine day, they declared that every horse had
been taken out by various parties of visitors for pic¬
nics and excursions. This was a renewal of the
scene at Schandau. We ought to have yielded at
once, and been satisfied to make an agi’ccmcnt for
setting out the following morning; but we were
stubborn, and much time was very disagreeably
taken up by the struggle; and the dogged obstinacy
and mde sullenness of the people exasperated some
among us very much. They had the best of it
however, and we were forced to resign ourselves to
remain the night: a change then came, almost
magical; the people, late so rude, were all courtesy;
and sullenness tmned into obligingness. Nor were

AND ITALY.

31

they bent on extortion: our bill altogether was
seventeen florins.

Being now at peace in our minds, we wandered
for some time beside the Ishl. If we had been
transported suddenly to this spot, we had been
enchanted; but wc had passed througlv more beau¬
tiful scenery to reach it. There were a good many
visitors: among them, Maria Louisa, a woman who
might have been respected among women; but she
forfeited her privilege.

« September 27.

The diive from Ishl to Salzburg was delightful.
The road, for a considerable space, bordered tlie
St. Wolfgang Lake. At the head of the lake, the
horses rested for an liour; and my friends took a boat,
and went on it to bathe. I joined them afterwards.
There was not the same ehami in this lake as in the
Gmunden-see. I cannot tell you why; for 1 find no
language to express difierences which arc immense to
our perceptions, and yet vary little in the description.
Both present a wide exj)anse of water, surrounded by
precipitous mountains or grassy banks. This, too,
was grand, and solitary, and beautiful, but less softly
inviting—^Icss, as it were, holy in its calm, and, at
the same time, less cheerful in its aspect—than the
Gmunden-see.

32

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Wtat will you say to me when I say that Salzburg
surpassed all? It has indeed been pronounced to
be the most beautiful sj)ot in Germany. Where¬
fore ? It has not the majestic Danube, as at Linz,
sweejjing under dark, overhanging cliffs, and winding
through a spacious valley, till lost to sight beneath
distant mountains: it has not a lake sheltered by
hills, with bay and inlet sacred to the sprites. It is
observed that one of the most admirable features of
a scene is where lofty mountains and an extensive
plain unite. This is rare: usually mountains inclose
a ravine, or valley, or lake • and the scenery around
Salzbm-g is a specimen on the grandest scale in the
world of this mixture.

Imagine a vast, fertile, various plain, half-encircled
by mighty mountains—^those near the town are
abrupt chtfs, which tower above, crowned by castle
and convent—with a river sweeping round thcii’ base;
others, high and picturesque, but of softer foims, and
wooded; and then, high above all, craggy, gigantic
jilps—not the highest, for at this summer season
scarcely a north-turned peak has preserved its snow,
but still stupendous — some showing their dark,
beetling sides, like Cadcr Idris, but on a larger
scale; others, with what in Switzerland are called
aiguilles, their spirc-hke peaks seeking the upper
skies. Remember, we saw all this beneath a bright

AND ITALY.

33

sun, the air so dry and pure that every crag and
cleft was distinct on the face of the hills at^ an
immense distance. The j)lain itself has a richer and
more cheerful and rural appearance than any I have
seen since I left England. The beauty of its meadows
and gardens, the frequency of its cottntry-liouscs,
the indescribable variety of the landscape, enchant
the eye. What a summer might here be spent!—
what a life, I would say, had not society and home a
claim;—were it not a dream that we can be hapjiy
only in the contemplation of nature, removed frora
all intercourse with our tiquals. But you sec the
magic circle: Linz, Gmunden, Ishl—these are in
Styria—^then the district called the Salzkammergut.
Such is the region in which I design, if I am ever
able, to pass some long months, and to enjoy even
more than I have ever yet done, the delight of
exploring scenery unrivalled in the world. Ves;
though the thought of Italy reproaches, and for life,
I should not hesitate to choose between the two; yet
there is something more sublime, more grand, more
mysterious, in this Alpine region; which, as far as I
have seen, I infinitely prefer to Switzerland.

As we approached Salzburg, we found the fields
and green uplands near the town alive with people.
Horse-racing was going on; and the whole popula¬
tion had poured out to sec it, reproaching our dusty

c3

34 BAMBI.ES IN QEBMANY

carriage and our fatigue by tbe gaiety of the
equipages and the holiday trim of the spectators.
I do not know anything more humbling to one’s
self-conceit than amving travel-tired and soiled
amidst a crowd of well-dressed people; so we looked
another way, and went right on to the inn. We
found that the inauguration of the statue of Mosart
and the annivcrsai’y of the century after his birth
had been celebrated by three days of holiday at
Salzburg—this, the last. It was a gi’eat pity we
had not arrived the day before to hear one of his
Operas; but we were too late. As a token of
veneration for this greatest of all composers, Mr.

P-endeavoured to gain admission to the organ

on which Mozart had played for years; but the
absence of the person in authority prevented his
success.

The inn of the Erzherzog Carl is vciy good; but
our duties pressed on us. We could not linger,
and we must make arrangements for our further
progress. We ascertained here a faet, which we
suspeeted before, that the addition which our party
had received at Dresden, however delightful in other
respects, spoiled the financial economy of our
journey. Persons travelling in Austria without a
carriage can, if four in number, secure a separat
wagen, and obtain a clean carriage to convey them

AND ITADY.

36

post the whole way, at a slight advance on the price of
the eilwagen; but we were five—^wc must, therefo.'c,
have two carriages, and the expense w'as doubled.
We did not find a voiturier much cheaper. Had we
gone post, wc should have gone by Villach, and
reached Venice in four or five days. “But wc had
set our hearts on the Lago di Garda, and that
decided us. Wc made a bargain for two caleches,
with a pair of horses to each, to take us over the
Brenner to Trent, in five days and a half, for a
hundred and forty florins.* We have now left the
Mtinz and schein money, ^md have passed from the
Austrian to the Bavarian florin : this is a gain—the
former is two shillings, the latter two francs; and they
are worth the same in expenditure. Settling this aflair
occupied us, at intervals, during the whole evening.
Wc rambled a little about the town, which is
remarkable for a large handsome square, with a
fountain, built of white marble, and said to be the
finest in Europe: it would be finer had it more

• On this subject only Murray’s Hand-book seems to run faulty—
a lower price for voiture travelling is always named than! have found
it possible to attain. It is easy to allege that wc were imposed upon.
It may bo so; but it was difficult to believe this in some instances,
where the l^ii^ain was made for us by friends, natives of the country.
In the Hand-book of Italy this is the more remarkable, and I can
speak with greater certainty. I do not know how it may be with a
single man taking his place,—one among many^ as It may chance,—
but for a party, like oursel^s, taking a whole carriage, the expense
in proportion is far higher than he mentions.

36

BAMBLES IN GEBMANY

water. The statue of Mozart is placed in another
part of the square: it is of a large size, and striking.
On account of the festival, there was no possibility
of visiting the lions —every body was out. and all
things closed. We wandered beyond the town, on
the margin of the Salzer—an impetuous torrent,
rushing at the foot of romantic crags. It is a region
of cncliEmting beauty, which 1 shall leave with
great regret. StUl, it is much to have had this sort
of Jlash-of-lightning view of the lovely scenes we
have lately passed through; and I hope, some day,
to visit them again at leisure.

AND ITALY.

37

LETTER IV.

Entraace to the Tjiol.—Tillage Fete.—Pass .Strnb.—Swartz.—
Iiiapruck.

Mondzy, 8tii Seftehbeu.

We left, Salzburg at ten o'clock, on a tine sunny
morning. We were about to penetrate the most
celebrated jtasscs of the 'Tyrol,—and the name has
magic in it. We wound through the plain of the
Salzkauinicrgut, hedged in by lofty mountains, that
rise sheer and abrupt from the plain, without any
ajiparcnt opening by wliich their recesses may be
penetrated. The Tyrol is the most continuously
mountainous district in Europe. Switzerland con¬
tains plains and lakes—the Tyi-ol has only defiles
and ravines, hedged in closely on all sides by
precipice and mountain; while, in the depths, the
torrents from the hills unite and form rivers, which
turn many a mill-wheel destined for domestic use,
besides carrying the riches of the coimtry (salt)
down various canals, fed by them, till it reaches the
Danube. Once, these streams were laden with the
hopes—the fate—of the Tyrolese, and watched with

38

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

beating hearts by the heroes about to combat for
their country—by the women and children who
sympathised with and aided the stronger sex in
their glorious struggle. The night of the 8th
April, 1809, was fixed on for the general rising of
the peasantry against the French and Bavarians:
the signal agreed upon was throwing sawdust into
the Inn, which floated down, and was seen and
understood by the peasants. In addition to this, a
plank with a httlc pennon was launched on the river
and home down the stream, and hailed with enthu¬
siasm, as it carried the tidrngs that all were about to
rise to liberate their country.

It is by these defiles—that of the Saal—and
afterwards of the Inn — that travellers* reach the
Brenner. We approached the mighty crags, and
by degrees they closed around us, and we found
ourselves in a ravine, with the Saal—a common
name of a river in Germany—flowing through its
depth. This sort of route is familiar to all who
have travelled among mountains. Thus are these
districts traversed. The chains of mountains are
intersected by ravines, and torrents w'ork their w’ay in
the depth; the road is carried along the margin—^now
ascending, now descending, now turning the huge
shoulder of a hill, now penetrating into its recesses,
according as the formation of the pass requires.

AND ITALT.

39

Soon after leaving Salzburg, we came upon a strip
of Bavarian tenitoiy; and it was ucccssaiy to stop^ at
the last Austrian Custom-house^ to have our luggage
loaded. "WTiile this was being done, the sounds of a
fiddle caused us to peep into the jmblic room of a
little inn. A marriage was being ccldhratcd, and
dancing going on. A curious sight it was. The men
are a handsome lUCC, dressed as wc arc accustomed
to see them represented—^the jacket, tight breeches
fastened at the knee, the sash round the waist, stock¬
ings and shoes, and high hat and feather, fonn a
very becoming costume foi*a good figure. But, alas!
for the women: their waists arc jdaced up between
their shoulders; their petticoats, short; a peaked
man’s hat, like a Wclchwoman’s, completes their
ungainly appearance. Nor did 1 sec any beauty: the
youngest were weather-beaten and clumsy: they were
destitute of all soft feminine grace, and seemed a
cross between a boy and an old woman. The dancing
is infinitely strange. They walz with impetuosity—
with frenzy—^interspersing theii* dance with certain
capers, twists, hugs and leaps, which evidently excited
great admiration: a Highland fiiug was nothing to
it. We found Murray’s description true to the letter,
and were much amused. Remember, too, that amidst
all the twirhngs, springs, and kickings, in which they
indulged, the dance was performed with a gravity

40

KAMBLES IN GERMANY

worthy of a Parisian ball-room, and with infinite
precision; no jostling; no romping; their capers
were executed by rulf, and with perfect decorum.

The pass we continued to penetrate —Pass Strub,
which forms the portal of the lyrol—is one of the
most beautiful in the world. We left the Saal; and
now crossing the huge shoulders of mighty hills,
now thridding other deep gorges, we wound our tor¬
tuous way, till we should reach the Unter Innthal, or
valley of the lower Inn. This night we slept at Waid-
ringen, a very rustic place; but we were comfortable
enough. Our fare was ..ild food: we had supper,
our rooms, and coffee in the morning; and our bill
amomited to four Bavarian florins, for five persons.

Septembeb 9.

The Tyrol was ever celebrated for the beauty of
its scenery, and the intcgiaty and simplicity of its
inhabitants. In 1780, Mr. Bcckford travelled here,
and celebrates, in various of his iumiitable Letters,
‘‘the Tj-rol, a country of picturesque wonders.”
“ Here,” he says, “ those lofty peaks, those steeps of
wood I delight in, lay before us. Innumerable clear
springs gushed out on every side, overhung by
luxuriant shrubs in blossom; soft blue vapours rest
upon the hills, above which rise mountains that bear
plains of snow into the clouds.”

AND ITALY.

41

The TjtoI is now endowed with a higher interest:
it is hallowed by a glorious struggle, which gifts
every rock, and precipice, and mountain-stream, with
a tale of wonder.

The Tyrol became by inheritance a possession of
the house of Hapsburgh as far back as th&fourtccnth
century. The princes of Austria showed themselves
worthy sovereigns of this province. The internal
govcniment of the country was the object of wise
legislation; and, in spite of the ojiposition of Pope
and noble, and imperial city, the Tyrolese received
the gift of a free constitu/ion, and governed and
taxed themselves. These blessings arc guarded by
the fact that the soil of the moimtains is thcii- own.
Tlici'c are no noble landlords to carry off the wealth
of the country in the shape of rents, forcing the
labourers to waste their lives in penury and toil, that
they may squander in vice and luxury. The peasant
possesses the land he cultivates. lie is independent,
pious, and honest. No mercenary troops have ever
been hired among these momitains; but the Tyrolese
arc not unwarlike. They are devotedly attached to the
House of Austria, which conferred their privileges,
protected them, exacted few taxes, and in no way
displayed the cloven foot of despotism, in this happy
region. Their domestic government is carried on by
themselves. They furnish a slight contingent to the

42

HAMBLE8 IN OEaMANY

imperial armies, which is looked upon as an opening
to active life, and operates rather beneficially on the
population. They are accustomed to the use of arms,
for the militia is called out and exercised each year.
They are a happy, brave, religious, free, and virtuous
people.

But what is all this to ambition ? It suited the
views of Napoleon that the TjyoI should belong to
Bavaria, when he raised it from an electorate to a
kingdom; and by the treaty of Presburg in 1805,
Austria ceded, with reluctance it is true, but still it
ceded, the best jewel of its crown. The Tyrolese had
lately, under the command of the Austrians, de¬
fended their passes against the Bavarians with heroic
braveiy—now they were to become subjects of the
inimical power.

Their very hearts revolted against their change of
masters. But they had far worse to suffer. Their
new sovereign promised solemnly to govern them by
their old laws, and to respect their institutions ; but
no sooner were the Bavaiian authorities established
in the country, than these stipulations were basely
violated. The constitution was at once overthrown
by a royal edict. Hitherto they had taxed them¬
selves j now eight new and oppressive taxes were im¬
posed and levied with rigour. Convents and monas¬
teries were confiscated, their estates sold, and their

AND ITALY.

43

chalices and other sacred treasures seized, melted down,
carried oflf. Not content with inflicting these wToi.^s
and insults, Bavaria attempted to obliterate the very
name of the Tyrol from the map of Europe. The
distriet was divided into piwnnees, called after the
various rivers which flow ed through them. •The inha¬
bitants were ordered to change their language, and
only permitted to use that of their forefathers for
four more years.

Napoleon, w'hen the country rose against this
misrule, declared “ the Bavarians did not know how
to govern the Tyrolese, and»were unworthy to reign
over that noble countn'.” But these words only add
greater heinousness to his crimes against them; for
his exactions on Bavaria were the primal cause of
the hea\'y taxes—his examjde had taught that the
best w'ay to tame a people was to give them new
names, and change their local demarcations j and
when they revolted against the tyranny which he
himself declared unworthy, he punished without
mercy the oppressed, wronged, and insulted insur¬
gents.

What wonder that the Tyrolese detested their new
rulers; or that, fondly attached to their old ones,
they should hear and answ’cr with enthusiasm the
call of one of their ancient princes. "WTicn war
again broke out between France and Austria, the

44 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Archduke John called on the Tyrolese, in a spirited
and exciting proclamation, to expel the French and
Bavarians. With transport they prepared to obey.
The country rose to a man: women and children
assisted} caiTying to the scattered peasantiy the
watchword, “ s’ist zeit” “ it is time,” which bade
them at once assemble and prepare for action.
Slightly aided by the Austrian regular troops, at the
cost of many victories and some defeats, they drove
the enemy from their country.

But ])cacc was again to ]>rove fatal to them. By
the trciity that was “igned after the battle of
Wagrani, they were ceded anew to Bavaria. What
wonder that they shrunk from the hated yoke, whose
weight they had before experienced, and almost
without hope, yet resolved not to yield. They con¬
tinued the heroic struggle; and in this last contest,
thcii' combats and their victoines were even more
wonderful than in the first instance.

Every poi'tion of the route we traversed had been
the scene of victory or defeat, and rendered illus¬
trious by the straggle for libci-ty. Our road lay
through Unter Innthal, whieh presented mountain
scencrj', infinitely various in aspect;—glen, wood,
and stream;—sunrise, noon, and sunset—shine and
shadow added pci*petual changes to the ravines
and their skreens of precipices. I confess there was

AND ITALY.

45

none of the charm of Styria or the Salzkammcrgut.
It was beautiful and sublime to pass through, to
look upon, but the wish to take up my abode in any
of these solitudes never presented itself to my mind.
I have even seen passes I have admired more; it bears
some rescmblanee to that of Saint Jean le ]V/auricnnc,
for instanee, on the way from Chablais to Mont
Ceiiis; but that is more beautiful from its walnut-
trees and loftier Alps.

We slept at Swartz—a town of sad celebrity in
tlu! wars of 1809. The Bavarians took it by storm,
and were guilty of cruelties which the historian
refuses to depict, as too horrible and too sickening
for his pages.* A new race has sprung up; but the
towi has not recovcTcd its former pros])erity.

The inn here is e.vcellent; it is kept by Baiuer,
known in England as one of the Tyrolese minstrels.
His rooms are clean and comfortable; we fared
sumptuously, indulging in Bhenish wine. Our bill,
with all this, was only ten florins, or thirteen shil¬
lings and fourpcnce, for all; by which you may
judge for how small a sum a man a]^e, bent on
economy, might make a tour of the Tyrol.

Leaving Swartz, by degrees the pass widened, and
from a height we saw Inspruck, white and nest-like,
basking in the valley beneath. All this portion of
* Alison’s History of Europe.

46

RAMBIiES IN GERMANY

the country was the theatre of many mortal combats
between the Tyrolese and Bavarians and French, in
fsOO. The town was taken and retaken several
times j the bridge of Hall, the Brenner, and Berg
Isel, were the scenes of gallant exploits; and the
rustic chiefs of these hardy mountaineers were often
victorious over officers, who, commanding disciplined
troops, disdained the ill-anned and tumultuous pea¬
santry with whom they had to contend. Dietfurth,
a Bavarian colonel, liad boasted at Munich that,
“ with his regiment and two squadrons of horse, he
would disperse the ragged mob.^’ lie was wounded
to death in one of the assaults, when Inspruck
was taken; and while lying in the guard-house of
that city, singulai’ly added to the enthusiasm of
the pious, not to say superstitious, peasantry. He
asked. Who had been their leader ? “ No one,” was
the reply; " we fought equally for God, the Empe¬
ror, and om* native country.” “ That is surprising,”
said Dietfurth; “ for I saw him frequently pass me
on a white horse.” These words caused the report
to spread l^at their patron saint, St. James, fre¬
quently celebrated in Spanish annals of Moorish
wars for his white charger, had appeared in person to
guard the city, placed under his especial protection.

Besides this more modern source of interest,
we were told to look with curiosity at an old castle.

AND ITALY.

47

from a higli, window of which Wallenstein, then a
page of the Margraf of Burgau, fell to the ground
without hurting himself—an accident which was
said to have sown in his mind the seeds of that
superstitious reverence for his own fortune which
followed him through life, and was the instigator of
many of his exploits. Unfortunately for the fame
of the castle, Wallenstein’s biographers tell us that
this story is a fiction; that he was never page to the
said nobleman; never inhabited this castle.

inspmek, lying in the centre of a little plain,
surrounded by Alps, with its tall steejdc and white
walls, has a thousand times been painted, and is a
sort of ideal of what these Alpine cities are. It is
clean and fair; one wide w’ell-paved street, which
midway enlarges into a square, runs tlic whole length.
There is an immense hotel, usually thronged with
travellers, as the road into Italy by Munich, and
by the passes of the Tyrol or the Stelvio, is much
frequented. We had a very good breakfast here,
for which wc paid as much as for sujjper, rooms,
and breakfast the night before; the numerous
English have taught them high charges. Here we
found some letters from England, and wrote answers,
and rambled about, but saw not half of what
wc ought to have seen ^ in this cajutal of a free
country.

48

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER V.

The Pass of the Brcniicr.—Hofer.—Brcssaiionc.—Trent.—
Riva.—Logo di Garda.—Promontorv of Sirmio.

Immediately on leaving Insprack we began the
ascent of the Brenner. The road is being greatly
improved; as long as we continued along the new
portion, it was admirable, but we were forced to turn
off very soon into the old road, now in a neglected
state. The northern side of the Brenner is very
dreary. For awhile we commanded a view of the
plain of Iiispruck, and its gem-like town; but when
a turn of the road hid this, we found om’sclves
winding along beside a tiny rill, and spread around
was a wild and dreary mountain side; a drizzling rain
fell, which shut out the new of the surrounding
countiy. The people we met looked poor, and the
villages through which we passed seemed wTetched
enough. In one of them w'e passed the night.
The name of the village is not even mentioned in
Murray, and the inn was vjry bad; so you may think
we were disgusted—especially as we had entertained

AND ITALY.

49

hopes of getting on as far as Brenner: but the elder
voiturier, who was captain of our movements, was
silent, sulky, and obstinate. Endeavours to move
him, only added to his sullcnness.

The road in the morning presented the same dis¬
consolate appearance: the town of Brenner is on a
level, shut in by heights. We were still on the
banks of the Sill, uhich joins the Inn, and pursues
its coui’se to the Black Sea; but with delight I saw,
and with ccstacy my two companions, who had never
visited Italy, hailed, a little rivulet and tiny waterfall,
the Eisach, which flows south and joins the Adige;
it was gi-asping Italy, to behold a stream that
mingled its mountain-born waters with the rivers and
lakes of that divine eountry.

We descended rapidly; and, passing across the
Sterzinger Moss, a marshy flat, we again entered the
mountain defiles. iVfter passing through Mitten*
wald, the ravine closes still more narrowly. This
was the seene of a most tremendous eonflict
during the Tyrolese struggle. Every stone and
every crag, indeed, has its tale of victory and defeat.

I have mentioned, that after the battle of Aspern,
the Tyrolese had delivered their eountry from the
Bavarian yoke. The desire to be free caught the
neighbouring provinces of Bavaria, Vorarlberg, and
the northern Italian mountains, and in every part

VOL. II. D

30 KAMBLES IN GERMANY

the native peasantry, joined to their Austrian allies,
were vietorious. The Tyrolese believed that they had
regained their liberty, when the battle of Wagram,
followed by the annistice of Znaym, crushed all
their hopes. The Tyrol was re-deinanded by Napo¬
leon for Bavaria—and ceded again by Austria. The
Emperor, after vowing never to desert them, wrote
to the TjtoIcsc to announce, with expressions of
paternal regret, the necessity he was under of yielding
to Napoleon, and to order his troops to evacuate
their countrj'.

The mountaineers recc’ved these tidings with in¬
dignation, but without despaii’. They had stniggled,
bled, and been victorious; but battles in which they
had no share, fought at a distance from their territory,
wei-c to decide their fate; and they w'ere to be made
over like a flock of sheep, bought and paid for, to a
master who had oppressed them and endeavoured to
destroy all they held dear—constitution, name, lan¬
guage, all! They refused to submit to so inglorious
a destiny. At first they deliberated on forcing the
Austrian troops to remain; but deserted by them, and
by many of their own leaders, who accompanied the
retiring army, they turned to Hofer, who accepted
the command. The whole of the Tyrol again rose,
and many of the Austrian soldiers deserted their
banners to join the peasantry. The hopes of the

AND ITALY.

51

patriots were now high, and they resolved to close
their passes against the French and the Bavarians.

Hofer is no silken hero. Many portions of his
character militate against the laws of romance; he
had the German defects joined to their nobler quali¬
ties. He was born in the station of an innkeeper,
a position rather of distinction in the TjtoI, since
bringing the publican into contact ■with travcllcr.s,
he acquires knowledge and civilisation. He is said
to have been indolent, as well as convivial, even to
intemperance, in his habits. He was often to be
found carousing in a way.side inn, while his com¬
panions in arms were in the field. With all this,
his countrymen idolised him, and he was esteemed
and distingui.shcd by the Emperor and the Arch-
Juk. .lohii, who was th< chief instigator of the first
rising of the Tyrol. He was possessed of unble¬
mished integrity — honest, brave, open-hearted,
resolute, and pious, he had aU the virtues of the
hardy, untaught mountaineer.

It is an interesting circumstance in his career,
that w'hen called upon to lead his countrymen
against the Bavarians, he underwent a violent strug¬
gle of feeling. When General Hormayr withdrew
from the TjtoI, he persuaded several of the chic&
to accompany him in his retreat. Hofer refused to
go, and exerted his eloquence to prevail on his
d2

H'Z RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Mends to remain, imploring them to make “ one
more effort in behalf of their beloved country.”
Yet his own resolution was not entire. He felt
that he was about to lead his countrymen against
forces which held the whole of Europe in awe, which
had humbled that Emperor, under the protection
of whose sceptre he desired to remain. Could any¬
thing but ultimate defeat ensue? On the other
hand, he could not contemplate with any sense of
resignation a renewal of the tyranny of Bavaria:
and, doubtless, he entertained a hope that their
continued resistance would cause Austria to make
another, and probably a successful attempt to claim
its own. He passed several days in his native
valley of Passeyr, a prey to irresolution, striving to
seek a decision by the force of prayer.

Meanwhile, General Lefevre, at the head of a
force composed of French, Saxons, and Bavarians,
penetrated to Inspruck, took possession of the
city, and advanced southward across the Brenner.
The peasantry assembled in arms, and Hofer not
appealing, Haspinger came forward to lead them.
Father Haspinger was a Capuchin friar; he was
young and athletic. In his student days, in 1805,
he had fought the French; since then he had lived
secluded in his monastery; but the cause of his
country called him out. He had been present at

AND ITALY.

53

all the pre«ous battles, and was always seen in the
thickest of the fight, bearing no arms except a Imge
ebony crucifix, with which he dealt tremendous
blows on the heads of his adversaries, and did great
execution. In the absence of Hofer, this singular
man came forward to direct the exertions of the pea¬
santry. It was in the narrow pass below Mittenvald,
that he prepared a fearful ambush. He caused
enormous larch-trees to be felled, upon which were
piled huge masses of rock and hcaj)s of rubbish;
the whole being held together by strong cords, and
thus suspended over the edge of the precipice.

“ Wc had penetrated to Inspruck,” writes a Saxon
officer,bclonging to Lefevre’s army, “ without greaf
resistance ; and, although much was reported about
the Tyrolese stationed upon and round the Bren¬
ner, we gave little credit to it, thinking the rebels
might be dispersed by a short cannonade, and
already looking on ourselves as conquerors. Our
entrance into the passes of the Brenner was only
opposed by small corps, which continued to fall back
after an obstinate but short resistance: among others,
I perceived a man, full eighty years of age, posted
against the side of a rock, and sending death among
our ranks at every shot. Upon the Bavarians
descending from behind to make him prisoner, he
shouted aloud, ‘Hurrah!' struck the first man to

54 KAMBLES IN 6EKMANY

the ground with a ball, seized the second, and,
with the cry, * In God's name!’ precipitated himself
with him into the abyss below. Marching onward,
we heard from the summit of a high rock, ‘ Stephen,
shall I chop it off yet?' to which a loud, ‘Nay!’
rcverberatcd'from the other side. This was told to the
Duke of Dantzig, who, notwithstanding, ordered us
to advance. The van, consisting of 4000 Bavarians,
had just stormed a deep ravine, when wc again heard
over our heads, ‘ Hans! for the Most Holy Trinity!’
The reply that immediately followed completed our
terror. ‘In the name of the Most Holy Trinity,
cut all loose above!’ and ere a minute had elapsed,
thousands of my comrades in arms were crushed,
buried, and overwhelmed by an incredible heap of
broken rock, crags, and trees, hurled down upon us.”

hlr. Alison, in his “ History of Europe,” tells us
that in 1816 he visited this spot, and says “the long
black furrow, produced by the falling masses, like
the track of an avalanche, was, even then, after
the lapse of seven years, imperfectly obliterated
by the bursting vegetation which the warmth of the
Italian sun had awakened on these beautiful steeps.”
Now, thirty-three years, with their various seasons,
snow, rain, and sunshine, have drawn a green veil
over the ruins; and there is nothing left to tell the
tale of defeat and death.

AND ITALY.

56

To return to Hofer—^for these valleys are filled
with his name, and it were sacrilege to traverse them
without commemorating his glory and lamenting his
downfall.

On hearing of this success, Ilofer, joined by many
thousand peasants, descended from the valley of
Passeyr; through the whole region the hardy inha¬
bitants rose en masse. Comit Wittgenstein succeeded,
however, in clearing the northern slope of the Bren¬
ner, and General Lefevre once more advanced,
intending to cross and enter the Italian Tyrol. He
was attacked on all sides by innumerable and deter¬
mined foes. After an obstinate conlliet he was
defeated, forced back down the mountain; he lost
his ammunition and cannon, and, hotly pursued, had
only time to take refuge in Inspruck, disguised like
a common trooper.

The jjeasantry collected in thousands, and ano¬
ther battle ensued. The disciplined troops of the
invader were unable to cope with the enthusiastic
numbers that assailed them; their mercenary courage
quailed before the noble ardour of the free moun¬
taineers. Mount Isel was again the scene of the
conflict; it ended in the total defeat of the French
and Bavarians. Inspruck was evacuated, and Gene¬
ral Lefevre retreated to Salzburg. Hofer became
commandcr-in-chief of the Tyrol. The simplicity.

50 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

the almost childish earnestness to act with justice
that characterised his rule, in no way deteriorates
from the real elevation of his character. He was an
ignorant peasant, and his eyes did not look beyond
the well-being of his native province and of his
countrymen, who were also his personal friends. To
this he was devoted, and no act of arbitrary power
or of insolence, no shadow of such a thing, clouded
his short-lived prosperity.

It was indeed brief. New annies poured into
the devoted country, and the mountain passes were
invaded at all points., For three months the
peasants kept up their resistance, but the coming of
winter forced them from their mountain fastnesses
into the valleys below; food became scarce; their
power of resisting the foe dwindled, faded, and
became extinct—the Tyrol again became a province
of Bavaria.

Napoleon, in his haughty contempt and insolent
indignation at any opposition to his will, chose to
regard the struggle of the Tyrolese for liberty as the
lawless tumult of freebooters; he magnified the very
few acts of barbarity of which the peasantry had
been guilty (not to be compared in number to the
atrocities perpetrated by their opponents) and. had
the baseness to set a price on the head of the pea¬
sant chiefs.

AND ITALY.

57

Hofer wavered several times. Now, concehing
that further resistance could only injure his county,
he issued a proclamation inviting his countrymen to
lay down their arms; but finding they would not
yield, he resolved not to desert his post, and told
the peasantry that “ he would fight with them and
for them, as a father for his children.” Various
feats of arms ensued, and the Tyrolese were often
victorious—even while ultimate and absolute defeat
could only be deferred a few days by their heroism.
At last all was lost; the chiefs for the most part
fled; some fell into the hands of the enemy; others,
with more or less of peril and hardship, escaped to
Austria.

Hofer refused to fly; he refused to surrender.
He retired to his native valley of Passeyr. He con¬
cealed himself in an Alpine hut foTir leagues distant
from his home, and almost inacessiblc amidst the
snows. His wife and child accompanied him, and
his friends supplied him as they could with food,
and brought him messages even from the Emperor
of Austria, entreating him to escape. He refused.
A stubborn patriotism held him to his native moun¬
tains, and he declared he would never leave them.
Nor would he disguise himself, nor cut off his beard,
which, flowing to his waist, rendered him conspi¬
cuous. At the same time he probably believed, now
D 3

58 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

the country was subdued and tranquil, that the
Fi;ench would soon cease to desire to possess them*
selves of him.

He was deceived. A cunning intriguii^ priest, of
the name of Donay, had insinuated himself into his
confidence, ‘ and now, for the sake of the price set
upon his head, betrayed him to the French general.
An officer was sent with sixteen hundred men to
take him prisoner j two thousand more were ordered
up the pass to be at hand—so fearful were they that
the peasants would rise to the rescue.

The column began their march at midnight, on
the 20th January, over ice and snow. At five in the
inoming they reached the hut in which Hofer and
his family harboured. He heard the French officer
inquire for him, and came to the door and at once
delivered himself up. He was bound, and amidst
the shouts of the French and the tears of the pea¬
sants, he was marched to Botzen. Here he was
received by the French commandant, Baraguay
d’Hilbers, who treated him with courtesy, and even
with such kindness as may be afforded a prisoner.
Hofer was greatly altered by his long retreat amidst
the snows, and by frequent want of food. His hair
had grown gray, but his spirit was untamed, and his
countenance beamed with cheerfulness and serenity.
He was separated from his family, and carried to the

AND ITALY.

59

shores of the Lago di Garda. He was put iu a boat
at the little village of Simone, and on disembarkijig
again was carried on to Mantua.

A court-martial was immediately summoned: but
even the laws of war were dispensed with; for the
sentence of death was not passed by this* court ; the
telegraph declared it from Milan, ordering his
execution within twenty-four hours. Until this
moment he had apprehended no danger to his life;
yet he received the sentence with unshaken fomness,
and only requested the attendance of a confessor:
this was complied with, 0u the following morning,
he was taken from the prison. He passed by the
barracks of the Porta Molina, where the Tyrolese
prisoners were confined, who all wept, and implored
his blessing. This Ilofer gave them, entreating their
pardon fur being the cause of their misfui'tuiies, and
declaring his conviction that they would soon be
delivered from the sway of Bavaria. On the broad
bastion at a little distance from the Porta Ceresa, a
halt was commanded. Hofer refused to be blind¬
folded—^he refused to kneel. He said, “He was
accustomed to stand upright before his Creator, and
in that posture he would deliver his spirit up to
Him.” He said a few words of farewell, expressing
his undying love for his country; and pronounced
the word “ Fire! ” with a firm voice.

GO RAMBLES IN GERMAXV

The spot on which he fell is still considered sacred
by^his countrjTnen.

Ilis funeral was conducted with solemnity by the
French. But this was only an act of hypocrisy j such
as instigated Berthier, then at Vienna, to declare that
Hofer’s death would cause great paui to Napoleon, and
that he would never have permitted it, had he been
aware. Had Hofer suffered by sentence of the court-
martial by which he was tried, there had been some
colour to this assertion; but the teiegra})hic dispatch
that commanded and hurried his execution, in spite
of the milder dealings of the military tribunal, in fear
lest the intercession of the Emperor of Austria would
prevent it, could only emanate from an authority
intimately conversant with, and bhndiy obedient to,
Napoleon’s will.

WTien, after landing from Elba, and losmg the
battle of Waterloo, Bonaparte w'as taken prisoner,
was he less an outlaw than Hofer, who defended his
country against invasion ? His want of magnanimity
docs not excuse that of others, but it takes from the
respect, the compassion, and the indignation, with
which he demanded that his imprisonment should
be regarded. It has been justly pronounced, that
Napoleon was not guilty of any acts of wanton
cruelty; but the pages of his history are also destitute
of any record of his magnanimity.

AND ITALY.

61

The Emperor of Austria invited the wife of Hofer
to Vienna. She refused to quit her native moun¬
tains ; and resided, till her death, under her husband’s
roof, in tht. Valley of Passeyr.

Such are the deeds, such the name, that shed
glory over the rugged and romantic passes of the
Tyrol. We continued to thread them; and the
interest with which we regarded the scene of these
patriotic exploits became exchanged for a more
personal feebng of joy as we felt the climate alter,
in token that we were advancing nearer and nearer
to Italy.

The valley we traversed was met here by another;
the scenery was huge, craggj', and picturesque.
Through this second valley is carried the road called
the pass of the Ampezzo, the shortest road from
Insprack to Venice. We had several times debated
whether we should not go by it j but the wish to see
the Lago di Garda decided our negative.

We slept at Brixen—Bressanone is its musical
Italian name j but we heard no Itaban yet, nor saw a
trace of Italy. Murray calls Brixen “ a dirty, inani¬
mate town, of 3200 inhabitants.” We saw nothing of
it. The inn—^the Elephant, is a pleasant, country-
looking hostelry, on the road-side j trees grow
in front, and it resembles the best specimen of a
rustic inn in England. Everything was clean and

62

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

comfortable, and the waiter spoke English. I bought
a tiny figure of Hofer, carved in wood, to do honour
to the " Tyroleem Champion," who, as Wordsworth
well expresses it, was

^ Murdered, like one aeborc by shipwreck cast,

Murdered without relief.*'

Wc found here the moderate charge of a good inn
among these mountains: including what wc gave to
senants, it was nine florins.

Monday, Skptehber 12th.

Ol'r journey continues through a most beautiful
part of the TjtoI. Tlie road first lay through a
narrow, gloomy pass, closed in by dark majestic
clifis, till we crossed the Eisach, when the valley of
the Adige opened on us, with the town of Bolzano—
still lingering in Germany we called it Botzen—
surmounted by the Castle of Eppan; again, I repeat,
differing as these valleys and mountains do one from
another, delightedly as the eye dwells on the un¬
imaginable variety of grouping which this picturesque
and majestie region presents, words cannot describe
it. Our road was cut in the side of a mountain,
and wound beneath lofty crags; a narrow plain,
with a dashing torrent, the Eisach in the depth,
and lofty mountains closing in the valley on either

AND ITADV. 63

side. I have used such words before: mark the
difference here. Fair Earth scents the gales of
Italy, and already begins to assume for herself the
loveliness which is the inheritance of that coxmtry.
The slopes of the lower hills are covered by vines.
We stopped to bait the horses at what, in England,
would be called an ale-house, a very humble inn,
which we did not enter; but there was a sort of
rustic summer-house and terrace overlooking the
Eisach. The terrace was shaded by what, in Italy,
is called a pergola, or trellis.-ied walk of vines; the
vegetation was luxuriant j the sun shone bright, and
dressed the whole scene in gaiety. My companions
felt that they were approaching scenes di'eamt of—
ardently desired, never seen. The days of my
youth hovered near. I stole away among the vines
by the margin of the river, to think of Italy, and to
rejoice that 1 was about to tread again its beloved
soil j to find myself surrounded by my dear,
courteous, kind Italians, instead of the Germans,
who, honest-hearted as they doubtless are, under
the repulsive mask that invests them, have yet no
grace of manners, no show of that intuitive desire
to please—none of that cordial courtesy, which
renders the lowliest-born Italian gentle in his bear*
ing, and eager to render sendee.

We slept at Neumarkt, called in Italian, Egna,

64

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

We had left our beautiful valley here; and, as is too
often the case, in a region of transition from moun*
tai n to plain, the soil is marshy and the district un¬
healthy. There was a large, new-built, clean hotel
at Neumarkt; but though the rooms were good, the
living was* intolerably bad, so that w^e went nearly
supperless to bed.

Tuesday,. Septembeb IStb.

Still we approached Italy; the hills w'ere covered
with vines, the road shut in by the walls of vine¬
yards. Various valleys’branch off at intervals, all
affording the scenery peculiar to the Tyrol. I own
I had no desire to linger longer in this land; we had
continued for so many days among ravines, defiles,
and narrow valley.s, peering up at the sky from the
depths between mountains, that the eye grew eager
for a view of heaven, and yearned to behold a more
extensive horizon. When the bourne of a journey
hes beyond, the desire to linger, even in beautiful
scenery, is weak. Since I had left Gmunden and
Salzburg I had experienced no desire to stop short.

Some names of cities are so familiar, that one
forms an idea of them in one’s mind as one does of
a celebrated, but personally unknown, individual.
The Council of Trent is associated with cardinals
and bishops—shepherds of the church, legislators of

AND ITALY.

63

religion: there was something princely, yet holy, in
its idea. "WTiat we saw of it looked miserably
dirty; grand at a distance and beautifully situated,
on entering it, it was common-place; but, after
all, nothing can be more deceptive than the im¬
pression a way-worn traveller receives^ driven,
perhaps, .through the meanest streets to an hotel
where, fatigued, body and min^ he reposes, and
then is off again. Mr. P— sought out the cathedral
and the organ, but the organist declared that the
instrument was out of tune, whether from laziness
or not, I cannot say. Th^ hotel was good; we
dined at the table d'hdte. Again I was restored to
the privilege of speech, as Italian here is as common
as German.

Our compact with our hhh kutschers ceased at
Trent. \Vc paid them 140 Bavarian florins, and
gave them 30 swanzigers as drink-gelt; a swanziger
is the third of an Austrian florin, its worth is
eightpence English, and is a very intelligible and
convenient coin. The men were satisfied and we had
no reason to be otherwise: their conduct had been,
on the whole, negative—sullen and silent; and yet
with a latent violence and insolence which peeped out
as a rank weed on a grassless plain, strangely, unex¬
pectedly, and by no means welcome; I believe
they thought of nothing but their drink-gelt the

66 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

whole way. I was much more interested in the
horses, who had done their duty rather better.

We had now t#look out for a conveyance to
Riva, the town at the head of the Lago di Garda,
where we are to find the steam-boat, which is to
convey us to its southern shores. We engaged
a caleclie and a caratetla for twenty-two Austrian
fiorms, and were soon on our way. We were in
high spirits on having parted with our Germans, and
on finding ourselves on the very verge of Italy. I do
not pretend to say that this is a correct feeling; but it
was natural, considering our ignorance of German.
The valley of the Adige is very grand; and the
stream, broad and swift, was more of a river than we
had seen since the Danube. Several valleys branch
oflT here; and there is another route to Venice. We
were sorry not to see the famous Slovino di San
Marco, or avalanche of stone, near Serravalle, cele¬
brated by Dante, who was for some time a guest at
the Gastello Lizzana; where, exiled from Florence,
he was entertained by the lord of Castclbarco.

At Roveredo we changed horses ; our road, always
on the descent, now became exceedingly precipitous,
and ran on the very edge of the steep bank of the
Adige. Our drivers were strange fellows. He who
drove the caliche in which I sat, was a rough,
uncouth animal; but he of the carateUa was the

and ITALY.

67

most singular—^neither Italian nor German in his
ways, wild as an untamed animal—coarse and
vulgar as a metropolitan vagrftit. He was civil
enough, indeed; but seemed half-mad with high
spirits. You might have thought him half-drunk,
but he was not—roaring and singing, and whipping
his horses, and turning round to talk to the gen¬
tlemen in the caratella with a dare-devil air. I saw
him whip his horses into a gallop, and heard him
laughing and singing as he dashed down a road,
which, in truth, required the drag. It was quite
dusk—or rather, but for the stars, dark; which
added not a httle to the apparent danger. Our
driver, a little more tame, yet disdained the drag—
and we went down at a rattling pace: I was not
sorry, for I was eager to assure myself that our
friends in advance were not u])set and rolled in the
Adige, which rushed at the foot of the rock which
our road bounded;—^not they,—^we reached the
bottom, and saw the caratella dashing madly on in
the advance. Before or since 1 never met such
fellows; if my friends thought that Italians re¬
sembled them, they were indeed mistaken; they
had none of their innate refinement, but they had
their good humour: they were more like what one
reads of as the wanderers of the far west—except,
we are told, the Americans appeal’ always to calculate.

68 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

uad 80 perhaps did these fellows; bat they had the
outward guise of nearly being insane.

We got to Eiv^safe. It stands exactly at the
head of the Lago di Garda ;

Su8o in Italia bella gtoce un laco,

Apple dell’ alpe^ cho scrra
Sovra Tiralli, ed ha some Benaco.

Per mille fonti credo, e pii^ ei bagna,

Tra Garda, e Val Camonioa o Apcnuino
Dell’ acqua, cbe nel detto lago gtagiia.

The coast, with the exception of the spot on which
the town stands, is iron-bound; dark precipices
rise abruptly from the water; a bend in the
coast limits the view of the lake to a mile or two
merely: behind is the chasm of the Adige, beside
which Monte Baldo rises, lofty and dark—and
mountains somewhat lower—^but even they, sublime
in altitude, darken the prospect immediately behind
Riva. The town is mean and dirty; the inn—^not
bad to look at, is dirty and uneomfortable. It is
kept by a large family; but how different are they
from our Cadenabbia people! There are seven
sisters—some dress smartly, and sit and receive
company, and act the Padrona; others are the
Ginderellas of the establishment; but all are lazy
and negligent. The beds were not bad, it is true;
but the fare was imeatable.

We had congratulated ourselves that the steam-

AND ITALY.

69

boat, which plies every other day, would leave Riva
on the morrow of our arrival; but we found it had
not arrived as it ought, and doufcta of course hung,*
as it had not arrived, over the date of its departure.

WsDNESDiY, 14 th.

The morning has come, but no steam-boat. It
is detained, we are told, at the other end of the lake
by the wind. This assertion seems fabulous; we
have no breeze, the waters ^e glassy: but thus is it
with lake Benacus. The wind, coming down the
chasms of the mountains, i^ not felt in the shel¬
tered nook in which Riva is situated; but didves with
violence on the southem portion of this vast inland
sea, and lashes it into tempest.

We walked out: there is a path for a short dis¬
tance on one side under the rock, but the road soon
ends; the coast, as I have said, is iron-bound. One
of my friends began a sketch of the castle La Rocca,
built by the Scaligers, and which forms a picturesque
object: then I loitered in the town, delighting my
eyes with Italian names and words over the shop-
doors. Wc went out for a short time on the lake,
but a shower came on—a drizzle first, which ended in
pouring rain. We were truly uncomfortable—^forced
into the dirty, uncomfortable inn, unprovided with
books ; and, worst of all, quite uncertain as to the

70 KAMBLES IN GEEMANY

arrival of the steamer. The house is full of travellers

similarly situated, and others continually arriving j

•

this does not comfort us. Our madcap drivers of
the night before are still here; we have canvassed
with them the expense of going by land to Venice,
but thein demands are exorbitant. We have talked
with the boatman, of making the voyage in a large
open boat; but the time that this would occupy is
evidently uncertain: besides, a lingering remnant of
reason assures us that, if the steamer be detained by
adverse winds at the other end of the lake, this
wind, however favourable, must have raised a sea
to endanger our navigation. Our projects, there¬
fore, have only served to cheat time a little, and are
given up. Dinner has proved no occupation or relief;
it was so singularly and uncomfortably bad, that it
was difficult to eat any portion of it. Now evening
has come, and still it rains hard; the many travellers
are dispersed about the house in a state of listless
anxiety. Another day like this is too fearful a
vision: we have ceased even to speak of the chances
of release, for we grow hopeless. The people of the
inn finding the boat does not arrive, begin to talk of
some accident in the machinery; conversation lan¬
guishes among all the groupes. I sit writing at a
window till twilight is thickening into darkness.
Hush! a sound—distant—^increasing; can it be the

AND ITALY.

71

splash of paddles ? The bend of the lake prevents
the boat being seen till quite close at hand; my soul
is in my ears, listening: at length the sound draws'
the attention of others; one by one they congregate
near the windows, but there is silence among all,
broken only by hurried interjections swiftly silenced,
that each may listen more intently. At last—there
can be no doubt—there is a burst of joy as we behold
the smoky, but most amiable monster, double the
headland and bear down on the town. 0, how good-
humoured and communicative we arc all become;
what a clatter of voices, what joyful mutual con¬
gratulations ! One sight we have just witnessed, is
ridiculous to us who have the best of it—very dis¬
agreeable to the actors in the scene: on arriving at
the quay the travellers poured out from the steamer,
the porters shouldered the luggage, and all came in
one stream to our hotel. There was no room; the
voyagers expectant occupied every apartment. Tra¬
vellers and jwrtcrs went their way out again—the
world was before them; but their choice was limited
to some most wretched holes.

Septehber IStb.

We thought ourselves in all things fortunate, when
the morrow dawned bright and sunny. We had a hea¬
venly voyage, which repaid us for yesterday's ennui,

72 KAMBLES IN GERMANY

and satisfied us that we had done the wisest thing in
the world in entering Italy by the Lago di Garda. We
left the abrupt, gloomy, sublime north, and gently
dropped doAvn to truly Italian scenes. The waters
of the lake are celebrated for their azure tint; no
waves could be so brightly blue, so clear, so that we
saw the bottom of the lake, fathoms below. The
mountains sank to hills, with banks cut into terraces,
and covered with obves and vines, decorated by
orange and lemon-trees; the country-houses sparkled
in the sun. One of my friends quoted the lines
that celebrate Benacus.. Strangely enough, though
weather-bound at Riva by one of those storms for
which this lake is famous, we saw not a wave upon
its surface; not even a curled ripplet, reminded us
that it was

teque,

FIuctibuB et fremitur assurgenB,

Bcnace marino.

We landed at Lasise, a town distant fifteen miles
from Verona, and while I employed myself in
engaging a veturino for that place, and wandered
about the town, my companions went to bathe in the
clear waters of the azure lake. The promontory of
Sirmio was in sight; an Italian landscape all around,
an Italian sky, bright above: it was an hour of
delicious joy—set, like a priceless diamond in the
lead of common life—^never to be forgotten.

AND ITALY.

73

O, best of all the scattered spots that lie
In sea or lake, apple of landscape's cye,~~

Ilow gladly do 1 drop within thy nest^

With what a Mgh of full, contented rest.

Scarce able to believe my journey o'er,

And that these eyes behold thee safe once more !
Oh, where's the luxury, like the smile at heart,
Wlicn the mind, lircatliing, lays its load apar^—
When wc come home again, tired out, and spread
Tiie looscnM limbs oVr all the wisbed>for bed !
This, this alone, is worth an age of toll.

Hail, lovely Sirmio! hail, paternal soil!

Joy, my bright watere, joy ; your master’s come !
liaugii, every dimple on the cheek of home

• AD SIRMIONEM PENINSULAM.

•

Peninsularuuj, Sirmio, insularunn^uc
Occlle, quascunque in liqncntibus stagnis,

Mai’ique vasto fert uterque Neptunus;

Quam tc libi'Utcr, q^uaniqiic la'tus inviso,

Vix mi ipse crcdcus Tliyniam, atquo Bitliyiios
Liqiiissc catnpoB, ct vidcro tc in tuto.

O quid solittis cst bcatius curis
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino
Lahore fcssl venimus larem ud nostrum,

Desidcratoquo acquicscimus lecto ?

Hoc est quod unum est i>ro laboribus tantis.

Salvo, O venusta Sirmio, atquc hero gaude;

Gaudetc, rosque Lariw lacus undae:

Ridetc quidquid cst domi cachinnonim.

The above translation, from the verses of Catullus, is by Mr. Leigh
Hunt.

VOL. II,

£

74

EAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER VI.

Vrrona.—Journey to Venice.—Leone Bianco,—Hotel d’ltalia.

September 18th.

I AM again in Italy. The earth is teeming with
the wealth of September, the richest month of the
year. The harvest of the Indian com has begun;
the grapes arc hanging in rich ripening clusters
from the vines, festooned from tree to tree: a genial
atmosphere mantles the earth, and quickens a sense
of delight in our hearts. The road lies through a
richly cultivated country: the immense plain around
us is bounded to the north by the mountains of the
Tyrol, amongst which we seemed to have lost our¬
selves for an age, so refreshing, so new, so enchanting,
is the vride expanse of fertile Lombardy, opening
before our eyes.

A sad disaster ha])pencd on our arrival at Verona.
We had each our passport, and the whole was con¬
signed to the pocket-book of one of the party; and
when they were asked for at the gates of Verona,
the pocket-book was not to be found. Except our

AND ITALY.

76

passports, and Coutts’ lettre (Tindication, it con¬
tained no papers of importance; but still, after all
the annoyance the Austrians give about passports, it
was rather appalling. Nothing coidd be done. It
was remembered that when bathing, the pocket-book
was safe; it must have been lost since.* We were
allowed to go on to the inn, and time would shew
the result.

The Gran Parigi is one of the most comfortable
hotels I was ever at j it has the air of a palace, as
doubtless it once was. The same evening, by the
light of the clear full moon, my companions rambled
about the town and entered the amphitheatre, which
IS used as a circus, and horsemanship was going on,
and music filled the air. There was something
startling in finding the building of ancient days
used for its original pm’post—the seats occupied
by numerous sjicctators; the partial moonlight
veiled with some mysteiy what the garish sun
bad disclosed as below Homan dignity in the as¬
semblage.

You know the charm of these Lombard cities.
Built by a prosperous people, they have a princely
and magnificent appearance: their grandeur is what
grandeur ought to be—not gloomy and menacing,
but cheerful and inspiriting. The cities look built
by a happy people in which to be happy—^by a noble
£ 2

76 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

and rich peojilc, whose tastes were dignified, and
wliosc habits of life were generous.

We were ])romised a pajier that would give us
free course to Venice—^for our Consul was at that
city—and we w'erc to be transferred to him, and
meanwhile, our loss was made known in the country
about. But, though the paper was promised, one
or another of iny friends was emjdoyed the whole
morning in getting it properly signed. These delays
wer(! vexatious, more from the; uncertainty that hung
about the whole transaction, which kept us in
attendance and ])erplexitjf. There was no help. We
rambled to the garden, or walled podere, in W'hich
thci’e is an o\n‘ii fosse, and an old sort of sarcophagus,
which they show as Juliet’s tomb. That Juliet lived
and died, as Baldelli re-counts, there can be little
doubt; but it is not likely that this w'as “ the tomb
of the Capulets.” Still such a scene—a garden, with
its high antique walls, its Italian vegetation, and the
blue sky, cloudlc.ss above—^was a scene familiar to
Juliet j and her spirit might hover here, even if her
fair form was sepulchred elsewhere. It wus a long
walk thence to the tombs of the Scaligcrs, The most
fairy architecture—^not dark and Gothic, nor immured
within the walls of a church;—a small open court
encloses these elegant sepulchres.

At length we obtained the paper, and set out.

AND ITALY.

77

We had engaged a veturino for Veniee. Some hope
had we that the raihoad might be open from Padj^a
to Mestri; if not, we were to be taken to Fusina,
sleeping at Vicenza in oui- way. The charm of
autumnal vegetation, in a rich vine country, adorned
the road, and a distant view of the Alps bounded the
scene. Wc an-ived at Vicenza at eleven o’clock, by
a bright moonlight. I was soriy to see no more of
these Palladian palaces than the glimpses wc caught
from our carriagc-wiiuhws. Arcliitcctiire shows to
peculiar ad\antagc by the silver radiance of a full
moon: its partial white light throws portions into
strong relief, and the polished marble I'cflects its, so
to speak, icy radiance.

SEl’TEMnEB I9TH.

We found, on our arrival at Padua, that the rail¬
road was not open j so wc proceeded along the banks
of the Brcnta to Venice. Many a scene, which 1 have
since visited and admired, has faded in my mind, as
a painting in the Diorama melts away, and another
struggles into the changing canvass; but this road
was as distinct in my mind as if traversed yesterday.
I will not here dwell on the sad circumstances that
clouded my first visit to Venice. Death hovered
over the scene. Gathered into myself, with my
“ mind’s eye” I saw those before me long departed;

78 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

and I was agitated again by emotions—^by passions—
arid those the deepest a woman’s heart can harbour—
a dread to see her child even at that instant expire—
which then occupied me. It is a strange, but to any
person who has suffered, a familiar circumstance, that
those who m'c enduring mental or corporeal agony
are strangely alive to immediate external objects,
and their imagination even exercises its wild power
over them. Shakspcarc knew this, and the passionate
grief of Queen Constance thence is endued with
fearful reality. Wordsworth, as many years ago I
remember healing Coleridge remark, illustrates the
same fact, when he makes an insane and afflicted
mother exclaim,—

^ Tho breezo I see is in tfic tree;

It comes to cool my babe and me.”

Holcroft, who was a martyr to intense physical
suffering, alludes to the notice the soul takes of the
objects presented to the eye in its hour of agony, as
a relief afforded by nature to permit the nerves to
endure pain. In both states I have experienced it j
and the particular shape of a room—^the progress of
shadows on a wall—^the peculiar flickering of trees—
the exact succession of objects on a journey—^have
been indelibly engraved in my memory, as marked
in, and associated with, hours and minutes when the
nerves were strung to their utmost tension by the

AND ITALY.

79

endurance of pain^ or the far severer infliction of
mental anguish. Thus the banks of the Brcnta
presented to me a moving scene; not a palace, not*a
tree of which 1 did not recognise, as marked and
recorded, at a moment when life and death hung
upon our speedy arrival at Venice.

And at Fusina, as then, I now beheld the domes
and towers of the queen of Ocean arise from the
waves with a majesty unrivalled upon earth. We
were hailed by a storm of gondolieri; their voci¬
ferations were something indescribable, so loud, so
vehement, so reiterated; tilj we had chosen our boat,
and then all subsided into instant calm.

I confess that on this, my second entrance into
Venice, the dilapidated appearance of the palaces, their
weather-worn and neglected appearance, struck me
forcibly, and diminished the beauty of the city in
my eyes. We proceeded at once to the Leone Bianco,
on the Canale Grande; they asked a very high price
for their rooms, which rendered us eager, as we
intended to remain here a month, to make immediate
arrangements for removing elsewhere.

Our first act was to send our letters of introduc¬
tion ; the second, for two of us to go out to look for
lodgings. The account brought back by our second
dovefrom the ark was rather discouraging; but ourfirst
brought better things. Count-and Signor-

80 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

loved and respected too sincerely the writer of our
letters not to hasten on the instant to acknowledge

them. Signor-at once pei’ceivcd and entered into

our difficulty. I never saw such fiiendly zeal; nor was

Count-behind in kindness, though, as a younger

man, and not so conversant with the perplexities of
travellers, he could not be so c^cient in his help.

Tlic thing was soon settled. Signor-remarked

that if we took lodgings we should want a cook, and
that housekeeping in an imknown town, for a short
apace of time, was fraught with annoyance. There
was a new hotel just established, which desired to be
made known to the English, and which therefore
would be moderate in its charges. We went to see
the rooms. The Hotel dTtalia is situated in a
canal, three oar-strokes from the Canale Grande; so
far we lost what is most to be coveted at Venice—
the view from our window of this ocean stream, with
its bordering palaces,—but we were udthin three
minutes’ walk of the Place of Saint Mark. Our
rooms wtue on the second floor, a bed-room a-
piecc, and a salm, spacious, turned to the sun,
and being but just furnished, clean in the excess
of neunicss. hlany a palace had been spoiled of
its marble architraves and ornaments to decorate
this new hotel. We made om’ bargain; we cal¬
culated tliat, everything included, each of our party

AND ITALY.

81

would pay nine pounds a month for lodging and
board.

•

This done, we returned with our kind friends to
the Leone Bianco, as we are not to remove till to¬
morrow. Evening has come, and the moon, so often
friendly to me, now at its full, rises ovflr the city.
Often, when hei-c before, I looked on this scone, at
this hour, or later, for often I expected S.’s return
from Palazzo Moccnigo, till two or three in the
morning; I watched the glancing of the oars of the
gondolas, and heard the far song, and saw the
palaces sleeping in the light of the moon, which veils
by its deep shadows all that grieved the eye and
heart in the decaying palaces of Venice. Then I
saw, as now I sec, the bridge of the Rialto spanning
the canal. All, all is the same; but as the Poet
says—

“ The diffcrenco to me! ”

82

RAMBLES IN OERMANY

LETTER. VII.

The Ducal Palace.—The Accademia delle Belle Arti.

Vesice, Septembeb.

I MISS greatly the view of the Canale Grande from
my window; however, the result, probably, of our
being in a narrow canal will be, that I shall see much
more of Venice : for were we among its most noble
palaces, it would sufSce and amply fill the hours,
merely to loiter away the day gazing on the scene
before us. As it is, though singularly Venetian—
the wave-paved streets beneath, the bridge close at
hand—^the peep we get at wider w’atcrs at the
opening,—^it is but a jiromise of what we may find
beyond, and tempts us to wander.

There is something so different in Venice from
any other place in the world, that you leave at once
all accustomed habits and everyday sights to enter
enchanted ground. We live in a palace; though an
inn, such it is: and other palaces have been robbed
of delicately-carved mouldings and elegant marbles,
to decorate the staircase and doorways. You know

AND ITALY.

83

the composition with which they floor the rooms
here, resembling marble, and called everywhere in
Italy Terrazi Veneziani: this polished uniform sur¬
face, whose colouring is agreeable to the eye, gives
an air of elegance to the rooms; then, when we go
out, we descend a marble staircase to a aircular hall
of splendid dimensions; and at the steps, laved by
the sea, the most luxurious carriage—a boat, in¬
vented by the goddess of ease and mystery, receives
us. Our gondolier, never mind his worn-out jacket
and ragged locks, has the gentleness and courtesy
of an attendant spirit, and Jiis very dialect is a shred
of romance; or, if you like it better, of classic
history: bringing home to us the language and
accents, they tell us, of old Rome. For Venice

** Has floated down, amid a thousand wrecks
Uninjured, from the Old World to the New/**

With the world of Venice before us, whither shall
we go ? I would not make my letter a catalogue of
sights; yet I must speak of the objects that occupy
and delight me.

First, then, to the Ducal palace. A few strokes
of the oar took us to the noble quay, from whose
pavement rises the Lion-crowned column, and the
tower of St. Mark. The piazzetta is, as it were, the
vestibule to the larger piazza.

• Rogera’* “ ItlUy.”

84

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

But I spare description of a spot, of which there
are so many thousand—besides numerous pictures
by Cannaletti and his imitators, which tell aU that
can be told—show all that can be shown: to know
Venice, to feel the influence of its beauty and strange¬
ness, is quite another thing; perhaps the vignettes
to Mr. llogers’s Italy, by Turner, better than any
other description or representation, can impart this.

From the piazzetta we entered a gi’ass-grown court,
once the focus of Venetian magnificence—for, at
the top of that majestic flight of steps which rises
from it, the Doges wer? crowned. The cortile is
surrounded by arcades, decorated by two magnificent
bronze reservoirs, and adorned by statues. The
effect is light and elegant, even now that neglect has
drawn a veil over its splendour. Yet Nature here
is not neglectful; her ministrations may be said
even to aid the work of the chisel and the brush, so
beautiful arc they in their effects.

The Scala de’ Giganti was before us, guarded by
two almost colossal figures of Mars and Neptune,
the size of whose statues gives the name to the steps:
ascending them, we found ourselves in the open gal¬
lery that runs round three sides of the court, sup¬
ported by the arcades. Yawning before us was
the fatal lion’s mouth, receiver of those anonymous
accusations, the terror of all, and destroyer of

AND ITALY.

85

many of the citizens. Ringing a bell, we were ad¬
mitted into the palace.

We do not visit it once only; day after day we
wander about these magnificent, empty halls—
sometimes going in by the hall of audience, some¬
times ascending the Scala d’Oro, we ente* in by the
libraiy. Sometimes w'e give ourselves up to minute
view of the many frescoes, which record the history,
the glories, and even the legends of Venice. At
the dawn of the art, the more than royal government
caused the walls to be thus adorned by Gentile and
Giovanni Bellini, and subecquently by Titian : a
fire unfortunately destroyed their work in 1577;
and the present paintings are by Tintoretto, Paul
Veronese, and others. On an easel in the library,
is a picture in oil by Paul Veronese,—^the Queen of
Cyprus, Catherine Comaro, a daughter of Venice,
resigning her crown to the Doge—an iniquitous act
enough on the part of the republic; as others,
heirs of Cyprus, with claims more legitimate than
Catherine’s, existed. There is the gi’ace and dignity,
characteristic of this painter, in the various per¬
sonages of the group. It is to be raffled for, and
the proceeds of the lottery are to be given to the
infant schools; but the tickets arc sold slowly, and
the time when they are to be drawn is yet unfixed.
There are marbles also, in this room, that deserve

86 KAMBLES IN OEBMANY

attention,—some among them are relics of antiquity;
for the Rape of Ganymede is attributed to Phidias,
and worthy of him. Sometimes we wander about,
content only with the recollections called up by the
spot; and we step out on the balconies which now
command a view of the piazzetta, now of the inner
courts, with a liberty and leisure quite delightful:
and then again we pass on, &om the more public
rooms to the chambers, sacred to a tyranny the
most awful, the most silent of which there is record
in the world. The mystery and terror that once
reigned, seems still to linger on the walls; the
chamber of the Council of Ten, paved with black
and white marble, is peculiarly impressive in its
aspect and decorations: near at hand was the
chamber of torture, and a door led to a dark stair*
case and the state dungeons.

The man who showed us the prisons was a cha¬
racter—^he wanted at once to prove that they were
not so cruel as they were represented, and yet he
was proud of the sombre region over whose now
stingless horrors he reigned. A narrow corridor,
with small double-grated windows that barely admit
light, but which the sound of the plashing waters
beneath penetrates, encloses a series of dungeons,
whose only respiratories come from this corridor,
and in which the glimmering dubious day dies away

AXn ITALY.

87

in “darkness visible.” Here the prisoners were
confined who had still to be examined by the Coun¬
cil. A door leads to the Ponte de’ Sospiri—^now
walled up—^for the prisons on the other side are
in full use for criminals: yeai’s ago I had traversed
the narrow arch, through the open work of whose
stone covering the prisoners caught one last hasty
glimpse of the wide lagunes, ciwded with busy life.
Many, however, never passed that bridge—^never
emerged again to light. One of the doors in the
corridor I have mentioned leads to a dark cell, in
which is a small door that* opens on narrow vrind-
ing stairs j below is the lagunc; here the prisoners
were embarked on board the gondola, which took
them to the Canal Orfano, the drowning-place,
where, summer or winter, it was forbidden to the
fishermen, on pain of death, to cast their nets. Our
guide, whom one might easily have mistaken for a
gaoler, so did he enter into the spirit of the place,
and take pleasure in pointing out the various power
it once possessed of inspiring despair; this guide
insisted that the Pozzi and Piombi were fictions,
and that these were the only prisons. Of course,
this ignorant assertion has no foundation whatever
in truth. ■ From the court, as we left the palace, he
pointed to a large window at the top of the building,
giving token that the room within was airy and light-

88

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

“one, and said with an air of triumph, Eeco la Pri-
g nedi Silvio Pellico !—Was he to he pitied wheii
he was promoted to sucli a very enviable apartini-ut,
with such a very fine view ? Turn to the pages of
PellicO; and you will find that, eomplaining of the
cold of his- first darli cell, he was at midsummer
transferred to this airy height, where multitudinous
gnats and dazzling unmitigated sunshine nearly
drove him mad. Tnily hi' might regret even these
annoyances when immured in the dungeons of Spiel-
burg, and placed under the immediate and pafeninl
care of the Emperor—i whose endeavour was to
break the spirit oi his rvhef hi.ldren by destroying
the flesh; whose sedulous .study how to discover
means to torment and attenuatii—to bhght v\-ith
disease and subdue to despair—puts to shame the
fly-kilhng pastime of Dioclesian. Thanks to the
noble hearts of the men who were his victims, he
did not succeed. Silvio Pellico bowed w'ith resigna¬
tion to the will of God—^but he still kept his foot
upon the power of the tyrant.

Having visited every comer of the palace, and
heard the name given for every apartment, we asked
for the private rooms in which the Doge slept and
ate, which his family occupied. There were none.
A private covered way led from these rooms to an
adjoining palace, assigned for the private residence

AND ITALY.

89

of the Doge. The council were too jealous to allov-’
him to occupy the ])alacc of the repubhc, except for
the pm^poses of the state.

At other times, turning to the right, when we leave
our caual, we are rowed up the Canale Grande to the
Accadenna dclle Belle Arti, to feast our eyes on the
finest works of Titian. The picture usually consi¬
dered the chvf-d'mxirre of this artist, the Martyi-dom
of St. I’eter t he lleiiiiit, has, for the purpose of being
copied, heeii I'l.moved from the dark niche in w'hich
it is almost lost in the clnu’ch of the Saints Giovanni
and Paolo, and is here. Tim subject is painful, but
conceived with great pow’er. A deep forest, in
which the holy man is overtaken by his jnirsucrs,
sheds its gloom over tlu. jiiciure; his attendant
Hies, the mosi living horror depicted on his face;
the saint has fallen, cut down by the sword of the
soldier ; an angel is descending from above, and,
opening heaven, sheds the only light that irradiates
the scene, it is vci'y fine; but in spite of the celes¬
tial messenger, there is wanting that connecting link
with Heaven,—the raptime of faith in the sufferer’s
countenance, which alone makes pictures of martyr¬
dom tolerable.

I was struck by the last picture painted by the
venerable artist—Mary visiting the Tomb of Jesus.
I was told that I ought not to admire it; yet 1 could

90 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

not help doing so: there was something impressive
in the mingled awe and terror in Mary’s face, when
she foimd the body of Jesus gone.

The Mairiage at Cana, by Paul Veronese, adorns
these walls, removed from the refectory of the sup¬
pressed Convent of San Giorgio Maggiore. It is the
finest specimen of the feasts which this artist delighted
to paint; bringing together, on a large scale, groups
of high-bom personages, accompanied by attendants,
and surrounded by a prodigality of objects of archi¬
tecture, dress, ornaments, and all the apparatus of
Patrician luxury. It ig filled, Lanzi tells us, with
portraits of princes and illustrious men then living.

We turned from the splendour of the feast to
the more noble beauty of Titian’s Presentation of
the Virgin—a picture I look at much oftener, and
with far greater pleasure, than at the more celebrated
Martyrdom. The Virgin, in her simpheity and
youth; in the mingled dignity and meekness of her
mien, as she is about to ascend the steps towards the
High Priest, is quite lovely; the group of women
looking at her, arc inimitably graceful: there is an
old woman sitting at the foot of the steps, marvellous
from the vivacity and truth of her look and attitude.
In another large apartment is the Assumption of
Titian. The upper part is indeed glorious. The
Virgin is rapt in a paradisiacal ecstacy as she ascends.

AND ITALY.

91

surrounded by a galaxy of radiant beings, whose faces
are beaming with love and joy, to live among whom
were in itself Elysium. Such a picture, and the
“Paradiso^of Dante as a commentary,is the sublimest
achievement of Catholicism. Not, indeed, as a com¬
mentary did Dante write, but as the originator of
much we see. The Italian painters drank deep at
the inspiration of his verses when they sought to
give a visible image of Heaven and the beatitude of
the saints, on their canvass.

There arc other and other rooms, all filled with
paintings of merit. One Ijall contains the earlier
productions of Gentile and Giovanni Bellini. The
genius and the elevated piety of these painters
give expression to the countenances; but the
dry colouring, the want of fore-shortening, the ab¬
sence of gi-acc everywhere except in the faces—
which are often touchingly beautiful—^all exhibit the
infancy of the art.

The Academy contains also a hall for statues; in
which the glossy marble of Canova’s Hebe looks, I
am sorry to say, shrunk and artificial, beside the
mere plaster casts of the nobler works of the
Ancients.

92

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTEE VIII.

Chiesa do’ Prari.—San Giorgio Maggiorc.—Santa Maria della Salute.

—Lido.—The Giudeeea.—The Fondamenti Nuovi,—The Islaods.

—The Armenian Convent.

Venice, Skptembek.

There arc three churches here in particular,
which we have visited several times, with interest;
the most venerable, the Westminster Abbey of
Venice, is the church of Santa Maria de’ Frari,
built in the middle of the thirteenth century.
Every portion of this vast and noble edifice is filled
with tombs and pictures, exciting respect and admi¬
ration. Many a Doge is here buried ; and many
monuments, some mausoleums in size and magni¬
ficence, some equestrian, some mere urns. Gothic or
of the middle ages, crowd the walls. With more
veneration we looked on the unadorned stone,
inscribed with the honoured name of Titian. He
died on the 9th September, 1.576, at the age of
ninety-nine, of the plague, and the visitation of this
calamity caused the citizens to consign him hastily
to the grave, without thought of marking it by any
monument or inscription, so that the spot was almost

AND ITALY,

93

forgotten. The mortuary registers of the church of
S. Tommaso prove that he then died, and was here
buried, and his name with a few words conjoined
have been chiselled in the pavement. The republic
of Venice projected a monument, which the troubled
times and invasion of Napoleon prevented their
accomplishing. Cauova made a model subse¬
quently ; but, dying before he could execute it, the
marble was entimstcd to various sculjrtors, and is
erected in his own honour in this church on the
side opposite to the spot where Titian lies. There
is something vciy impressiye in the idea of this
monument—a procession of figures entering the
half-opened door of a dark tomb.

There arc several ))leaslng pictures in the church,
chiefly by Salviati; but its pride in painting is an
altar-piece of Giovanni Bellini. He had lived long
and painted much in fresco, when, at more than
sixty years of age, he was initiated in oil painting
by Antoncllo of Messina, and executed his chefs-
d’oeuvre,—& picture in the church of San Pietro, on
the island of Murano, and that which we have
looked at with interest and delight in the sacristy
of this church. “ It presents,'’ says Mr. Eio, the
imposing seriousness of a religious composition, in
the figure of the Virgin, and in that of the saints
which surround the throne on which she sits; in

94

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

the faces of the angels it equals the most charming
miniatures for freshness of colour and ingenuous¬
ness of expression. A foretaste of beatitude seems
to have warmed the old man’s soul as he worked—
he has removed the cloud of melancholy with which
he formerly loved to cover the Virgin’s countenance;
he no longer paints the Mother of the seven sor¬
rows, but rather the cause of our joy.”*

Exactly ojtposite our canal, at the entrance from
the Quay to the Canale Grande, is the church of
San Giorgio Maggiore; it is built chiefly from a
model of Palladio, anjl is the noblest in Venice.
Our gondola landed us at the spacious marble plat¬
form before the church. Its situation is most happy.
Looked at from the Piazzetta, it is the most stately
ornament of Venice. Looking from it, a view is
commanded of the towers, and domes, and palaces,
that illustrate the opposite shore. The church is
immense, and adorned by several pictures of Titian.
A convent adjoined, now destroyed; but as we
rambled about, we found that they had kindly
retained, and left open for the visits of strangers, the
celebrated cloister, surrounded by an elegant colon¬
nade of Ionic pillars, and the staircase, which is
one of the boasts of Venice.

Somewhat above, within the Canale Grande, is the

* De U Po£sie Chr^tienne.

AND ITALY.

96

church of Santa Maria della Salute; this was built
in 1631, a time when architecture had degenerated,
and a multiplicity of ornaments was preferred to that
simple harmonious style, whose perfection has to my
eye the effect of one of HandeFs airs on the ear—^filling
it with a sense of exalted pleasure. Here was beauty,
but it existed even in spite of the defects of the budd¬
ing ; it sprang from its situation, its steps laved by
the sea, its marble walls refleeting the prismatic
colour of the waves, its commanding a view of great
architectural beauty; within also it contains pictures
of eminent merit.

The roof of the Sacristy possesses three Titians,
which overpaid you for twisting your neck to look at
them. Methinks they ought to convert the exclusive
admirer of the mystic school, who would confine
painting to the expression of one, it is true, of the
most exalted among the passions—adoration, love,
and contemplation of Divine perfection. These paint¬
ings are, what surely pictures ought to be allowed to
be, dramatic in the highest sense j they tell a story;
they represent scenes with unsurpassed truth and
vigour. The kdling of Goliath by David, is admi¬
rable. The countenance of the youthful hero, as he
stands unarmed, " with native honour clad,” is in¬
stinct with the glow of victory, purified by his artless
reliance on the God of his fathers. The Sacrifice of

96

SAMBZ.ES IN 6EBMANY

Isaac, is the only representation of that tremendous
B' i tiiat ever pleased me: generally it inspires pain—*
often disgust; a father, unimpassioned and pitiless,
about to cut the throat of his innocent and frightened
child. But Titian’s imagination allowed him to con¬
ceive the feelings that must have actuated and
supported both father and son—^that of unquestioning
certainty that what God ordered was to be obeyed,
not only without a murmur, but with alacrity and a
serene conviction that good alone corddhethc result.

la particular, the comtemucc of Isaac is the most
touching commentary on this stoiy; it displays awe
of approaching death, without terror; it is solemn,
anil, yet lit up by that glance into eternity, and
Unquestioned resignation to a will higher and better
than his own, which alone could sanctify the horror
of the moment.

But, perhaps, surpassing these in power, is the
Death of Ahel. Usually, you see a man striking
his brother the death-blow, as it seems, with cold¬
blooded brutality: here, you behold the wild frenzy
that transpoi-ted the fratricide out of himself.. I
have seen the passion of violent and terrible anger
well e^qjressed in two pictures only—^this one, and
that at Berlin, where the Duke of Gueldres clenches
his fist at his father.

Pue day, in one of our many rambles, we tried to

AND ITAIY.

97

get into a chnrch, but it was at the worst hour for
such a visit—^between one and four—^when the
churches are closed. We tried to find the sacristan*
when a workman came to us—" You cannot get in
thci-c,” he said; “hut I will show you something,”
He took us to the building at which he was at
work—a convent for Dominicans. The Trench,
during their rule, suppressed all the convents ; they
arc being levived, even in Lombardy, where, till lately,
there were none. There was nothing attractive in
a modem house divided off into narrow cells, two of

which wore -wmiVowlcRS, aud jahnted out as luoy/hi.

di ewstiffo, by our guide; but it was curious (whether
satisfactory or not, 1 leave to others to decide,!
this building, narrow of dimensions, mean in its
proportions, altogether insignificant in size and
aspect, replace the stately edifices in which monks of
olden time passed their lives.

The church of the Jesuits is in the ornate style
dear to this order, and is even in worse taste than
usual. Before the high altar is spread the imitation
of a carpet, formed of party-coloured marbles. Even
the pictures—many of which are by Palma—^that
hang around, are robbed of their beauty by their
juxtaposition to heavy, inelegant ornaments.

We were glad to leave it, and to turn our steps
to the church of the Saints Giovanni and Paolo,

VOL. u. F

EAMBL£S IN GERMANY

!! very large and majestic edifice; it is moi’c
venerable than any other in Venice, and belongs
fo the middle ages; the name of the ai’chitect is
lost: an inscription under the organ only tells us,
that it was begun in 1246, and consecrated in 1430.
It is filled ,with magnificent tombs of the old Doges,
and rich in pictures by Bonifazio, Bassano, Bellini—
the famous Martyi’dom of Titian is taken hence.
We often wander about its vast and stately nave,
reading, with pleasure, the historical names on the
tombs—taking delight in the many remains of the
.middle ages—and filled more and more with venera¬
tion for the energy, magnificence, and taste of the
V^enetians.

1 cannot tell you of all we sec, or it would take
you as long to read my letter as we shall be at
Venice. As we remain a month, wc do not crowd
our day with sights ; our gondoliers come in the
morning, and wc pass our time variously. Some¬
times, after visiting a single church, we are rowed
over to Lido; and, crossing a narrow strip of sand,
scattered with Hebrew tombstones, find ourselves on
the borders of the ocean; wc look out over the sea
on vessels bound to the East, or watch the fishing-
boats return with a favourable wind, and glide, one
after the other, into port, their graceful lateen sails
filled by the breeze. We thus loiter hours away.

AND ITALY.

99

especially on cold days, wlicn we have been chilled
at home; but Lido has a heat of its own—its sands
receiving and retaining the sun’s rays—^which we
do not enjoy among the marbles and pavements of
Venice.

As the sun sinks behind the Euganeam^ hills, we
rccross the lagune. Every Monday of this montli is
a holiday for the Venetian shojjkecpcrs and common
people ) they repair in a multitude of gondolas to
Lido, to refresh themselves at the little inn—to
meet in holiday trim, and make merry on the sea-
sands. AVe pass them in |;rowds as wc return on
that day. Our w'ay is, sometimes (according as the
tide serves,) imder the walls of the madhouse, cele¬
brated in Shelley’s poem of Julian and Maddalo—

** A wiodowless, deformed, and dreary

Vet not quite windowlcss; for there are grated,
unglazed apertures—against which the madmen
cling—and gaze sullenly, or shout, or laugh, or sing,
as their wild mood dictates.

We often allow om’ gondolier to take us where he
will; and we see a church, and we say, what is that ?
and make him seek the sacristan, and get out to
look at something strange and unexpected. Thus we
viewed the church of St. Sebastian, which contains
the chef-tVasuvre of Paid Veronese, the Martyrdom of

F 2

)(K) llAMBLES IN GEBMANY

St. Mark. There is something in the works of this
artist, which, without being ideal or sublime, is
graceful and dignified—^according to the dignity of
this world;—his groups are formed of the high-bom
and high-bred, and all the concomitants of his
jucturcs arc conceived in the same style of mundane
l)nt elegant magnificence. Sometimes we walk:
passing throi;^h the busy Mcreeria, wc get entangled,
and lose ourselves in the calk of Venice;—wc see an
open door and peep in, and ask where we are from
a )>asser by; and hear a name of historic renown, and
liiid ourselves viewing, by chance, one of the wonders
of the place. A favourite walk is straight across
towards the north, till we reach the Fondamenti
Nuovi, a handsome quay, from which we command a
view of many of the smaller islands; and far distant,
the J ulian Alps and the mountains of Friuli. It is
to me a most exalted pleasure to look on these
heaven-climbing shapes.

Sometimes, if the morning be “ kerchiefed in a
comely cloud,” and it feels chilly, we cross merely to
the Canale della Giudecca, which is almost a lagunc,
and being very much wider than the Canal Grande,
is not so convenient for common traffic; a hand¬
some street or quay, turned to the south, borders
the water—which, receiving the noonday sun, forms
a pleasant and warm promenade.

AND ITALY.

101

Madame dc Geiilis exclaims, “ Quelle ville
qne Venise! ” For those who love the eoiifnsiyri
and clatter of carriages, the garish look of smart
shops, and a constant ilmx and reflux of passers-by,
it is indeed dull. Tlicre is no noise (except the
church bells, of which there is too muchj-s-no dust;
the waters s{)arkle silently at your feet; the marble
palaces catch their radiance and arc dressed in
prismatic colours, reflected from the waves. It is
a place where you may dream away your life, quite
forgetful of the rubs, thorns, and hard knocks of
more bustling cities.

But if Venice be tranquil, come with me beyond
Venice, and tell me what name to give to the
sujierlativc stillness that reigns M’hen we cross the
laguncs tf) the islands—Murano, Mazzorbo, Burano
Torccllo. Little remains on them, except the*
churches, built in the younger days of Venice;
several of these are magnificent in marbles, and
interesting from their pictures, painted ui th<’
infancy of the art. We rambled about, and our
very footsteps seemed unnaturally to invade the
stillness that dwells on these desert shores, beside
the waveless lagune. For a time we might fancy
ourselves—

“ The firet that ever burst
luto that silent sea.’*

102 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

We were pleased; but quiet became lethargy;
and the dank grass and marshy ground looked
unhealthy. We were glad to be rowed back to
Venice.

It was much pleasanter to visit the Armenian
convent. This is the heau idSdl of gentlemanly
and clerical seclusion. Its peaceful library; its
cultivated and shady garden; the travelled tastes
of its inmates, who all come from the East,
and arc not imprisoned by their vows, but travel
on various missions, even as far as that Ultima
Thule which we consid’cr the centre of all busy
life — the view of the domes and towers of
Venice; and further still, of the Euganean hills
to the west, and of the Alps to the north; the
sight you caught of some white sails on the far
ocean;—all this gave promise of ])cace without
ennui—^a retreat—but not a tomb.

Thus I dwell on the beauty, the majesty, the
dreamy enjoyments of Venice. 1 will now endea-
voiu*, though the time I stay is too short to enable
me to observe much, to tell you something of the
Venetians.

AND ITALY.

103

LETTER IX.

Free Port.—Venetian Siiciety.—Titlci of tbc Nobility.—The l)oui.

—‘Infant Sehool.

UlTOUEK.

When I was here last, the duties on all imports
tt) Vciiiee were high, living became expensive, and
the city languished;—it is how a free port; every¬
thing enters without paying the slightest toll, with
the exception of tobacco. Tlie Emperor of Austria
grows a wretched jilant, to which he gives this
name, on his jiaterual aere.s, and will not allow
his subjects to smoke anything else. If that were
the only misdeed of his government, I should not
quarrel with him, but only with the people, who
do not thereon forego the idle habit of cigars
altogether.

The free port gives a far greater appearance of
life and activity to the city than it formerly had ;
and some luxiuies—such as Turkish coffee, and,
indeed, all things from the East, are much better
and cheaiicr than with us. To the Venetians,
coffee stands in lien of wine, beer, spirits, everv

104 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

exciting drink, and they obtain it in perfection at a
very low price. The Austrian is doing what he can
to revive trade, so to increase his store; for two
thirds of the taxes of the Regno Lonibardo-Vencto
go to Vienna. He desires that railroads should be
made, and "one is being constructed from Milan to
Venice. Nay, they arc in the act of building a
bridge for the railroad carriages from Mestre to
the centre of the cityj however convenient, it is
impossible not to repine at this innovation; the
power, the commerce, the arts of Venice are gone,
the bridge will rob it of its romance.

With scarcely any exception, all the Venetians of
the higher ranks arc at Villeggiatura at this season,
so wc have seen but very few of them. Tlie manner
in which the upper class live is, I fancy, monotonous
enough. In the winter, the Viceroy comes from
Milan to inhabit his palace, and gives a few balls.
Some ladies open their houses for conversazioni in
the evening; but the usual style is for each lady to
have her circle, and the general drawing-room is
the Opera-house; or they assemble in the Piazza of
San Marco. There is a plentiful supply of chairs
before the doors of the principal caffes, and they
sit and converse. It is not etiquette for a lady
to enter a caffe, and they arc shocked at the
English women, who fio not perceive the difference

AND ITALY.

105

between eating their ice, or sipping their coflFec, in
the open Piazza, and entering the shop itself.
To sit or to walk, listening to the hand, and
exchanging visits in this glorious drawing-room,
lighted up by the mighty lamps of heaven, is,
especially to an unhacknied stranger; ,a vc^rv
pleasant way of pas.siiig a summer evening. Tin¬
ea/^' to which the noble Venetians resort, is that
of Suttil. Foreigners go ne.xt door to Floriau,
where Galignani is taken in, which is an attraction
to the English.

That reading does not .flourish here, may he
gathered from the fact that there is no circulating
library, nor any literary society, such as are frequent
in country towns in France and England, where
people subscribe among one another for the supply of
books. The French Consul tried to establish one, but
did not succeed. I think it is Doctor Gregory who
says, reading novels is better than a total incapacity
to take an interest in books, since it enlarges the
mind more than no reading at all. It is sometimes
alleged, that in a state of society where there is no
thought nor desire for the acquisition of knowledge,
it is better not to read, than to imbibe the opium or
exciting cordials of the usual run of novels. The
question is, whether these works are not a step
■towards awakening a desire for nobler and more
V 3

106

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

useful mental culture. Meanwhile, to live among a

people who do not read—do not desire to learn—

•

presents to us a singular phasis of society. What
can they do ? Many things, it may he said, remain
for women in the discharge of their duties, without
becoming ’Wrc ,* but the fact is, that a desire for
improvement is the salt of the human intellect; that
a wish to acquire knowledge is natural to a well-con¬
ditioned mind, and ought especially to exist among
individuals of that class of society which enjoys
uninterrupted leisure. The Italians are delicately
organised, and have intuitive taste in music and most
of the line arts; but accomplishments, as they are
called, cannot be cultivated to any extent, nor can
even a love of duty subsist among the idle, w'hich
the Italians proverbially arc.

Still, among the Venetians, as all over Italy, you
must not suppose because they are ignorant—be¬
cause they live in a confined routine—because to
make love in their youth, and take care of their
money in later years, be the occupation of the
greater number, that you find the provincial tone of
a French or English country town. Graceful man¬
ners—accents modulated by the kindest courtesy—
suavity that is all gentleness, and a desire to do more
than please, to be useful, is innate among them—it
reigns in every class of society, and wins irresistibly.'

AND ITALY.

107

^\llcn 1 was last at Venice, many many years
ago, I knew no Venetians, and it so happened that the
English whom I saw chose to erect themselves into
censors of this people, and to speak of them in
unmeasured terms of censure. New to Italy, we
believed those who had lived there long.* ^Shelley,
in his letters and poems, echoes these impres¬
sions. I cannot pretend to say with what justice
such opinions were formed : I do not know whether
the Venetians are improved. If a foreigner caim
to England, and chose to associate with the most
vicious of our country people, both nobles and that
worst race who live by the vices of the rich, he
might find as much to abhor as Lord 13— repre¬
sented as detestable at Venice. 13ut then then- is
another class among us,—and he declared there
was no other here. We know, ii^deed, generally
speaking, that Italian morality is not ours; but if
it falls short in some things, perha])s in others, if
we knew them well, we should be obliged to confess
its superiority.

The duties of husband and wife are. in England
observed with even more sanctity than they obtain
credit for. But in how many instances do our
affections and duties begin and end there—with
the exception of those exercised by the parents
towards their very young children. We all know

108

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

that when a son or daughter marries, they literally
fulfil the dictum of Adam, “ therefore shall a man
leave his father and mother, and cleave unto his
wife.” Our family affections centre in the small
focus of the married pair, and few and ineffectual
arc the radii that escape and go beyond.

Now, it must be acknowledged that, however
endearing at the outset, however necessary and
proper, to a certain extent, such a state of things
may be, it often degenerates after a little time into
the most sordid selfishness. The Italians are defi¬
cient in this self-dedication to one, but they have
wider extended family attachments, of a very warm
and faithful description. We who consider it a
necessity of life to have a menage to ourselves—
each couple in its nest—cannot understand the har¬
mony and affection nourished in a little republic,
often consisting of grandfather and gi’andmother,
who may be said to have abdicated power, and live
in revered retirement—their days not counted and
grudged, as with us is too frequently the case: then
comes father and mother, respected and loved—and
then brothers and sisters. If a sister marries, she
becomes a part of another family, and goes away.
The son brings his wife under his father’s roof; but
the ske of their houses renders them independent
in their daily life. The younger sons are not apt to

^ND ITALY.

109

maiT}', because, in addition to their want of fortune,
too many women, essentially strangers, would thus be
brought under one roof, and would be the occasion
of discord. We know how readily the human heart
yields to a law which it looks on as irrefragable j
submitting to single life, uncles learn to •love their
nephews and nieces as if they were their own off¬
spring, and a strong family chain is thus formed.
A question may arise as to how much of family
tyranny turns these Unks into heavy fetters. In
the first place, their families are seldom as
numerous as with us. ^Hie necessities of their
position fall lightly on the males. All over the
world younger sons seldom marry; or only do so
to exchange luxury for straitened circumstances ; and
younger sons who continue to grow old under the
paternal roof, sharing iy ny//< the luxuries to which
they were bom, and in which they were educated,
arc better off than our younger sons, who are often
thrust forth from the luxurious home of their youth,
to live on a bare pittance in a wretched lodging.

Unmarried women all over the Continent have so
much the worst of it, that few remain single. How
they contrive to dispose of their girls, now convents
arc in disuse, I cannot tell; but, as I have said, there
are not so many as with us, and they usually contrive
to marry. At times you may find a maiden aunt.

110 RAMBLES IN OEKMANV

given up to devotion, who sheds a gentle and kindly
influence over the house. It does not strike me
that, as regards daughters who survive their parents,
things are much better managed with ns.

This family affection nurtures many virtues, and
renders the manners more malleable, more courteous,
and deferential. For the rest, though 1 cannot pre¬
tend to be behind the scenes—and though, as I have
said, their morality is confessedly not our.s—I am
sure there is much both to respect as well as love
among the Italians.

The great misfortune which the nobles labour under
is, in the first place, a bad education, and afterwards
the want of a career. The schools for children arc
as bad as they can be;—at their universities there is
a perpetual check at work, to prevent the students
imbibing libeiRl opinions; for as the governments of
Italy consider that those who dedicate themselves to
study and reflection are sure to be inimical to
them, so do they look on such with jealousy and
distrust, while sharp watch is kept on the professors,
to prevent their ranging beyond the bounds of
science, into the demesnes of philosophy.* Young

* 1 remember an iastanco of the sort of interference wbiclt
occurred in Tuscany* at tlic University of Pisa, during the mild and
comparatively liberal reign of Ferdinand.*, It is veil known that
during the Carnival the people promenade in particular streets (in
Pisa on the Lungo PAmo), the gentry in tbeir carriages, and often

AND ITALY.

Ill

men at college, however, are all liberal, all ardent
for the freedom of their country, all full of the
noblest, though too often the most impracticable
views for her regeneration. They leave college,—
and what is to become of them? If they have
already distinguished themselves for Imldness of
opinions, or even for great capacity and love of
knowledge, they are marked men; they are not
permitted to travel;—in auy case they have no
career, unless they give in at once their adlierence
to Austria; and, certainly, however hopelessness or
misfortune may tame and induce them to do this in
after times, at their first outset in life, an Italian
would feel as if, in so doing, he were a traitor to his
country. Some few there are—as many perhaps
as with us—chosen spirits, who can jmrsue their
course, devoted to study, or the service of their
fellow creatures—abstracted from the frivolity or
vices of society. But the majority have either never
felt the true touch of patriotism and a desire for
improvement, or find such incompatible with worldly
pleasure. There is httle or no public employment;

ma&kcd. The Btudenta at Pisa got up a masque of au elaborate
kindy I think of heathen gods and goddesses, or some such thing.
The follotviog CamiTai^ the professors, wishing to turn this play to
nobler uses, combined with the students to get up a processiou of
masks pcreonalitig all the illustrious men of Italian history. Govern¬
ment considered this a dangerous reminiscence of past glory, and
forbsulo it.

112 RAMBLES IN OERMANY

the marine is but a name; the anny, no true Italian
would enter; if they did, they would be quartered
far away from their native country, in Hungary
or Bohemia; they have nothing to occupy their
minds, and of course plunge into dissipation. Play
is the whirlpool that engulphs most of them. As
with us during the middle of the last century—as
among a certain set of our present aristocracy—play
is their amusement, their occupation, their ruin;—
many of the noblest Italian families are passing
away, never more to be heard of, the heirs of their
wealth having lost all iiwplay.—New men, mostly of
Jewish extraction, who have gained by banking, stock
jobbing, and money lending, what the others have lost
by their extravagance, are rising on their downfall.

A curious anomaly exists among the nobility of
the north of Italy. It is well known that titles in
England are on a difiFerent footing from those on the
Continent, and-hence are far more respected. In
England, a peer is an hereditary legislator, he is
certain to possess a .comparatively large fortune; so
that, to be a noble with us, is to be in the possession
of power and influence. His sons, except the eldest,
enjoy little of all this, and in the next generation
they sink into untitled gentry. In Italy, indeed
every where abroad, the descendants of a noble are
also noble to the end of time. The individuals of

AND ITALY.

113

this order, in consequence, intermarry only among
one another, and flomish as a numerous class, ^
wholly apart; hut of course the respect in which
titles arc held is greatly diminished, as power and
fortune by no means constantly attend them.

At present many of the most ilhistriou9 families
of Venice and Lombardy have lost their titles.
Thus it happened. On Napoleon’s downfall, when
Venice and her temtories and other parts of
Northern Italy were ceded to Austria, the king¬
dom Lombardo-Veneto was formed, and all thosi-
persons who wished to become nobles of the new
state, were ordered to prove their titles by producing
the diplomas and documents establishing the same.
The Venetians could easily have complied, since
the names of the nobility were, under the republic,
inscribed in the libro d’oro; for, although the
original of this book was burnt by the republicans
in 1797, several copies existed; and the Venetian
nobles were informed, that on presenting a petition
to request leave, and paying the tax or fees,
they might retain the titles of their forefathers.
Many who were descended from families which had
given doges to the state, refused to petition.—

“ MTiat is the house of Ilapsberg,” they said, " that
it should pretend to ennoble the offspring of old
Rome ?” Nor would they deign to request honours

114

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

from the invaders of their country, who carried their
insolence so far as to demand proof of noble origin
from those who, for centuries, had illustrated the
pages of history with their names.*

The nobility of Lombardy were also called upon
to ask fdr the confirmation of the titles which they
already possessed, by producing the documents
that proved them. Very few were able to comply,
as the Jacobins had destroyed their papers when
they seized on all public and private archives, and
burned them. Thus many of the most ancient and
illustrious families are deprived of the titles which,
for centuries, they enjoyed. These regulations con¬
cern that portion of Lombardy lately incorporated

* All tlic aristocracy—or as they call il, i\ic famiglie iriOunizie of
VenkCf consider thciubclvcs descended from old Koman families of the
Equestrian order, and tlie names of sevctul seem to attest tlio validity
of this pretension. Padua sent a colony to the island of Uivo Alto, or
KioltOt in 421 > and the command for the building of the new city
entrusted to Alberto Faliero, Tommaso CatuUaiio, and Cciiune Daulu,
or Dandolo. Honce it appears proliablc that the families of Faliero,
Candiano, and Dandolo are descended from the Roman patricians who
were present at the iirst building of the city of Hialto. In the
ninth century the seat of Tcuetiaii government was transferred from
the island of Rialto to Eraclca, and the independence of Venice
was establudied. Now, before and after that epoch it. may be
said Venice was the only city in Kuropc, wliicli from its foundation
for fourteen untunes never submitted to a fort'ign yoke: and it is
•aid that the old Venetian families have preserved in their lineaments
the' primitive character of the race whence they sprung. Dr. Edwards
having examined carefully the portraits of the series of doges, and com¬
pared them with the couutcuances of their actual descendants, comes to
this concluuoiu

AND ITALY.

115

in tlie Austrian kingdom. With regard to the
Milanese nobility, and that belonging to the states
which Austria possessed before the French Revo¬
lution, the edicts touched only the new nobility,
for which the Austrian government entertained an
antipathy, and was desirous of finding a pretepee for
depriving of rank ; it was often enabled to succe<^d
by taking advantage of some flaw in their diplo¬
mas, or in the manner in which they had fulfilled
the conditions contained in the article of the con¬
stitution which treats of feudal tenures. It also
forced the nobles of Lombardy, who had received
additional rank, to choose whether they would belong
to the ancient nobility by their old titles, or to the
modern by their new. Litta and Visconti, who had
been made dukes, as well as others who had been
advanced in rank, chose the former, and thus, though
of ancient race, belong to the new nobility.

But to return to the more important topic of the
state of knowledge in Italy—for this matter of titles
is held by themselves in great contempt, and only
thought of as marking the desire of Austria to
arrogate power and to annoy. The Italians cart! very
little for titles; and I have often heard them say,
that imtil they visited France or England, they
scarcely knew^or cared whether they possessed any.

You must not suppose, from what I say, that Italy

116

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

in no way shares in the enhghtenment of the present
times. Moreover, the Emperor of Austria admits
the diffusion of science in his dominions. Happy
Italians, to whom is conceded one path, on which their
minds may proceed in the journey onwards for which
God erfcated man. The Austrian government is
aware that their own native subjects can go pottering
on with theories and science, without one aspiration
to become men, in the free and noble sense of self-
government, stirring in their hearts: it supposes that
it will be the same in Italy; but the people of this
country are made of different clay j and it seems to
me, that as Jehovah hardened the heart of Pharaoh
for his own destruction, so does he soften the heart
of Prince Mettemich, thus to admit a system of
improvement into Lombardy, which wUl hereafter
prove the instrument of the overthrow of his power.
Science is generally pursued by clever Itahans
as a mode of employing their imderstandings, which
does not excite the suspicion of government; and
scientific meetings, such as assemble with us at
stated times in the great provincial towns, take
place yearly in Italy. This season the learned met
in. Padua; and at the inn where we refreshed our¬
selves in that city, we found tables spread for three
hundred ItotH, as they are called. . A ridiculous
story came to us the other day from across the

AND ITALY.

117

lagune. A student of the university looking over
the bridge, and seeing come up the river a barge
full of pumpkins, cried out, “ Vengono i dotti—see,
they have sent their heads before them!” Testa di
ziicca, or j>unipkin-hcad, answers to our phrase of
blockhead. This, however, was regarded as a serious
insult, and the offender has been put under arrest,
and is to be imprisoned till the great men leave
Padua.

There is another point for which the government
shew's toleration, on condition that its own political
catechism is taught—infant schools. I visited one,
and was much interested. It belongs to our district
of Venice, and is one among many. It was for both
boys and girls under the age of nine. I saw the
girls’ room first. They Icam according to the system
now prevalent everywhere for teaching the poor—
Bell’s and Lancaster’s, as it used to be called. There
were some thirty or forty girls; and I am sorry to
say they did not shew so well as the boys; the cause,
1 trust, being that the head-teacher, a priest, at¬
tended only to the latter. I do not mean to detract
from the governesses who presided over both schools:
they seemed sensible and zealous, and in every way
the whole thing was respectable. But the priest,
a young man, has a passion for arithmetic; he
teaches it with ardour to his pupils, who have a

118

KAMBLES IN GERMANY

happy knack for the same; and the sums wc wit¬
nessed brought to a happy conclusion by these little
fellows, all under nine years of age, and one between
seven and eight being the clci'crest, were to me quite
prodigious. Once the master disputed a point; the
boys insisted they were right, and so it proved. We
gave the sums. As to the correctness of the compu¬
tation, we trusted a good deal to the honour of the
governesses and master; but in truth, to see the eager
and intelligent way in which the boys answered, was
quite sufficient, for no one could be so ready and glad
unless he felt himself jn the right. These children
were not iiretty. I have often remarked, that hand¬
some as the Italian common people are, their children
(probably from bad food) arc seldom good-looking.

Unfortunately, when the children leave the infant
schools, their education ends; they fall back on the
habits of indolence and ignorance indigenous here.
How far their arithmetical studies may conduce to
their honesty, I cannot guess. I am not one of those
who say,

“ Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.”

A little light is better than total darkness; especially
inTtaly, where the cleverness of the people prevents
their ever ^oming stupid. They must learn some¬
thing; an« litde^good is better than all bad.

tA

AND ITALY.

119

LETTEH X.

Venetian Palaces.—Gondolieri.—Basilica of St. Mark.—Opera.—
llluuiination of the PVnicc.

Venice, OcxoiiKa.

M ANY of the palaces of Venice still j)reserve their
jiicturcs, and shew, in their nninbcrs and beauty, the
wealth and taste of the families in old time. The
Palazzo Manfrin contains, I think, the largest and
most choice collection. It has some incomparable
pictures by Giorgione, the contemporary, and rival,
of Titian, lie also was a puj)il of Gian BcUini.
but invented a style of his own, and first painted
with that richness and grandeur of colouring which
is the pride of the Venetian school. Ilis pictures in
the Palazzo Manfrin are wonderfully beautiful. The
Deposition from the Cross, by Titian, is here:
indeed, the collection is in every respect magni¬
ficent, and deserves many visits. In the Palazzo
Mocenigo (which Lord Byron inhabited—^the/e
arc two palaces Mocenigo: it is one of the most
illustrious families of Venice), there ^ the design for
the Paradiso of Tintoretto. In the Palazzo Fisani

120 KAMBLES IN GEKMANY

is an admirable picture by Paul Veronese—^the
Family of Darius at the feet of Alexander. It rises
above bis usual style of mere portraiture into the
ideal. There is the true chivalrous expression in the
mien and countenance of the youthful victor—^thc
grandcu* of habitual command^ the dignity resulting
from noble ambition; at the same time, you see that
his very soul is touched by compassion for the fallen
princesses, and the ingenuous shame which a generous
mind feels on beholding those lately placed so high
humiliate themselves before him, mantles in his face.

In the Barberigo Palace is the Maddalcna Sca-
pigliata of Titian. Her eyes, sw'ollen and red, are
raised to heaven, and her face is disfigured by much
weejung. Her remorse, her vehemence of grief,
differs wholly from the tender sorrow, chastened and
suj)ported by faith, of Con-eggio’s Magdalen. At
first sight, the deformity of her features produced by
violent weeping, is almost repulsive j but the picture
gains on you; the real beauty of the countenance—
a something of noble aud soft, in spite of passionate
sorrow and self-abasement.—is perceptible through
her tears.

We were taken to-day to see a modern picture
painting for the Emperor. It is on a large scale—
Foscari taking leave of his Father; his mother is
fainting; the Doge, struggling with contending

AND ITALY.

121

emotions, turns half away. The best figure is that
of the son: the feebleness arising from physical
suffering—veneration for his seemingly severe parent
—^grief, tenderness, and resignation—^are well ex¬
pressed in his kneeling figure and downcast face.

The Venetians are much interested at this moment
by the restoration of the Pala of the high altar of
St. Mark’s. It required an order to view it and the
other precious objects preserved in the Treasury.

The Basilica of San Marco is the most singular
among the edifices of Venice. Its strange Arab
architecture denotes its greatjmtiquity. The ancient
chapel of St. Theodore (who, before the transfer of
the body of St. Mark, was the j)atron saint of the city),
built in 552, was incorporated in 828 in the ancient
church of St. Mark, at the time when the bones of
the Saint arrived. These edifices being consnmc#by
fire, the foundations of the present were laid in 976,
and completed in 1071; but even until the middle
of the last century its internal decorations were not
completed.

Every portion glistens with precious stones. Its
walls are covered with pictures in Mosaic: its pave¬
ment, and the five hundred columns that adorn it,
arc composed of verde antique, jasper, porphyry,
agate, and the most precious marbles. Usually, one
cares little for such things; but here the barbaric

VOL. II. G

12.2

WAMBLES IN OUKMANV

iiiagnificencc—the Eastern aspect—the tombs of
lieroes it contains, and its association with the
glories of the republic—combine to render the
tribute of Mammon to Heaven interesting.

The high altai' has two I’ale; one covers the
other. The internal one, a curio.sity from its ricli-
lurss, has been taken down to be rcpaii’cd. It is called
the Pula d’oro, and is formed of enamel paintings
on silver and gold, encrusted with a profusion of
gems; it was executed at Constantinople by order of
the Doge Piero Orseolo, uneler whose reign the
Basilica w'as finishe^d. It now forms tins delight of
Venice, and many noble ladies have contributed a
quantity of gems, to replace those that have been
lost. It is a curious specimen of the state of the
arts in the middle ages, before it revived and
reoMved a soul from the great painters of Tuscany
and Umbria. It is all glitter and richness, and a
sort of barbaric elegance, without real taste.

The treasure of St. Mark once overflowed with
w'calth, in gems, pearls, and worked gold, chiefly
transferred from Constantinojile; these have all dis¬
appeared ; the only objects that attract attention are
an antique porphyiy vase, with letters carved on it,
-such as are found in Persej»olis—and a golden rose,
one of those which it was the practice of the popes to
present on certain occasions to catholic sovereigns.

AND ITALY.

123

This had hccn presented to a doge of Venice; it was
no meagre gift, being a very large hough, bearing
many roses, all formed of the precious metal.

Each day wc gi’ow' more familiar with this delight¬
ful city—favoiu'ite of Amphitritc and the Nereids;
the little roots, generated by sympathy shi^l enjoy¬
ment, begin to strike out, and I shall feel the violence
of transplanting when forced to go. I look wistfully
on some of the palaces, thinking that here I might
find a pleasant, peaceful home; m)r is the; idea, tlutugh
inipraeticabl(! for me, wholly visionary. S<Y(n-al of
the palaces, bereft of their *)ld possessors, are used
for public officc.s, or are let at a low rent. It is easy
to obtain a house, who.se marble stairca.se, lofty
halls, and elegant architecture, surpass anything to
be found in France or England. S(weral English
gentlemen have taken apartnumts, and fitt(-d tliem
up with old furniture, and find themselves, at slight
cost, surrounded by Vcne.tian grandeur. No one can
spend much money in Venice.:—a gondola is a very
inexpensive carriage; hiring one, as we do, costs four
swanzikers a day—about four pounds a month, with
a huona mano of half a .swanziker a day' to the gondo¬
lier, on going away.

Of course, if settled, you mu.st build your own
gondola; and to be r&tpectahle you must have tw'o
ffondolieri in livery. The apj)carance of the boat-

124

RAMBLES IN OERMANA'

dressed like footmen is, to my eye, the only
inharmonious si<rht in Venice. Tliesc men used to
be reservcid oidy for the use of the gondola and
carn’ing messages ; hut in these ]) 00 i'er days, they
serve as domi^stics in tlu! house; they arc still, how¬
ever, a rade a))art, tlioroughly acquainted with every
nook and eonier of the city; intelligent, alert,
zealous ; ready (as u'c wenr told of old) to do any
had (rrraml; hut with sucli having nothing to do,
we know nothing. We have two gondolas in our
])ay. One of the (/ondolieri is a favourite, Beppo,
No. .‘i()3; th(! other, Marco, 307. "VVe have no
faidt to find with either; and they join intelli¬
gence to exaefness. At first, we would not engage
Marco, because, accustomed to foreigners, he was
proud of his scraps of bad French. W<^ made a
bargain with him that he should always speak
Italian—Venetian we w'ould not insist upon, for wc
should not understand him. I am almost sorry to
know nothing of Venetian; it was the first dialect
formed from Latin that was written. At the time
when, in the other cities of Italy, the annals were
drawn up in barbarous Latin, the Venetians made
their records in their vernacular tongue, which
remain to this day in multitudinous volumes in the
Library of St. Mark. It has been averred that the
first colonists from Padua brought this dialect of the

AND 1TA1.Y.

125

Latin with them, and that it is a remnant of the.
vernacular of llonian Italy. Nine centuries later,
the Ibigua Toscana could scarcely be said to exist;
th(‘ language of Bruiietto Latini, Dante’s master,
being vei-y scant and inefficient. 1 am told that
Dante himself hesitated whether to write liis
“Divina Comedia” in Latin or Venetian, till
fortunately he became aware that the talk of the
common peo|)le of Tuscany j)ossess(Ml all the ele¬
ments of ex])rcssion; and lu;, collecting them with
that life-giving power pro|)er to genius, ‘‘ created
a language, in itself heroic and persuasive, out
<jf a chaos of inharmonious barbarisms.”* There
is, 1 believe, even at this day, gieater scoj)e for wit
and airy grace in A'enetian than in 1’u.scan.

The gondolieri often sing at their oars; nor are
the verses of Tasso quite forgotten. One delicious
calm moonlight evening, as we were walking on the
Piazzetta, an old gondoliere challenged a younger
one to alternate with him the stanzas of the “ Geru-
salemme.” I have often wished to hear them. It
was a double pleasure that I did not do so by
command, but in the true old Venetian way, two
challenging each other voluntai'ily, and taking uj)
alternate stanzas, till one can remember no more,
and the other comes off conqueror. We arc told

* Shcllcy*6 “ Defence of Poetry.’

126

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

tliat the air to which they sin{? is monotonous :
so it is; yet well adapted to recitation. The anta¬
gonists stood on the Piazzetta, at the verge of
the laguna, surrounded by other goivAolieri —^the
whole scene lighted up by the moon. They
chanted the favourite ]>assagc, the death of Clorinda.
1 could only follow the general sense, as they
recite in Venetian ; but the subject of the verse,
high and heroic, the associations called up—^the
beauty of the spot—a sort of dignity in the ges¬
tures of the elder boatman, and nothing harsh,
though it might be monotonous, in their chaunt
—the whole thing gave; me iuc.xprcssible jjleasun;
—it was a Venetian scene, dressed in its best;
and the imagination was wrapped in perfect
enjoyment.

The w’ceks pass away, and we arc soon, 1 am
sorry to say, about to leave Venice. We have taken
our sight-seeing quietly, and each day has had a
novel jdeasure. It is one of our amusements to visit
the piazza of San Marco at two in the afternoon,
when, on the striking of the hour on the great clock,
the pigeons come down to be fed. These birds
are saered to Saint Mark, and it is penal to kill any.
They lead a happy life, petted by all the citizens.
Now and then they may be served up at the dmner
of a poor man; but they are too many not to spare.

AND ITALY. 1127

without {Trudging, an individual or two for the good
of their maintaiuers.

We liavc visited the arsenal, a monument of tlie
glory and commerce of Venice; silent, cmjtty, use¬
less. One poor brig lies in the harbom’j it served
during the late war in the East; and the yowig officer,
who kindly acted as eieeronc, had captured a Turk¬
ish dag, which showed Iresli among aneieut Venetian
troj)hies. It seemed only a pretty compliment when
1 told him, that it gave me more ])leasure than all
the curiosities he was show ing us; hut I spoke the
simple truth. Anything thaj demonstrates the valour
and spirit of the present race of Italians, is more
satisfactory to behold, than all the cobwebbed glories
of old times.

No good o])cra is going on here. The Fcnice,
the large tlieatre, is only oj>cn during carnival. The
most })opular amusement is the fatnifflia Viauesi,
about half a dozen children, who sing the liarhierc
di Seviglia and the Elisir dAmora. It was very
wonderful, but not pleasing. There is a young
and pretty prima donna—a mezzo soprano—Gazza-
niga, who takes the part of Romeo in the Montecchi
e Capuletti, and sings it vci*y nicely; and there is an
amusing buffo.

A grand opera w'as got up at Padua during the
visit of the Dotti, and even Taglioni was engaged.

12S RAMBLES IN GERMANY

There was a talk of her comnijr to Venice, hut it fell
to the ground. However, alter the learned had
dispersed, the operatic coinj)any crossed the lagnne,
bringing tlie decorations of Jiohert h Diabh. The
Italians do not unilerstuiid German iiiu.sic. They
bring it <inl because; it has been ])raised; but they
tlo not like it; and alter it, and try to make it coin¬
cide with their taste, and sj)oil it com])letely.

The Emj)eror Ferdinand’s uncle, and the heir pre-
sum|)tivc of the imperial crown, is come to spend a day
here, and it is thought proper to mark bis visit by a
festival. The Fiaz/a di^ San Marco has been illu-
ininated—oidy with a mezza illumiuazione, but still
it was very beautiful; nor can anything be otherwise
in the uiagnilieent theatre of this stalely scpiare.

In addition they o)>ened the opera-house of the
Fciiice, anil lighted it iij). An tlluiniuara in one of
the great o))cra-houses is almost a national event in
an Italian town : 1 never witnessed one before, and
now eould understand the e.vciteincnt that it occa¬
sions. The price of bo.ves was very high, some sixty

swanzikers and more. Signor-kindly brought

me the keys of a %’cry good box, ojipositc that occu¬
pied by the royal party. We went early; the whole
house was full; the passages and corridors, all bril¬
liantly lighted, were filled with the common people
—admitted without pajing. Nothing could be more

AND ITALY.

129

ariiinatpcl, more fray. Our gondolier, one of whose
offices this is, jiaid for us, and showed us the way to
our box. WIkui the door ofuaied we were dazzled;
it «as like a scene in fairy land. Accu.storiied to our
few wax candles, and the deforniing, somljix; light of
gas. the iiiiiuiueralile lights that shed inoBe than day
over till' wliole house, |)rodu<‘ed an effect of brilliancy
and elegance (|uiTe. indescribable.

There hud been innch debating as to the ojiera,
Gazy.aniga wished to have the Moiitecchi <■ Vapti-
IcHL as .she shone in the part of Romeo ; but the
prinio buffo did not like lo be excluded from singing
before Jl. H. 1. II Accordingly, the opera of Chi
dura riiwi! vvas fixed on, in which Ga/zaniga hud a
prominent serio-eomic part. The story of the play is
sniiilar lo that, of oiii' Jlonri/monn. : and the way in
which she acted the angry, leloded lir'de was very
amu.sing. Tin.', ojiei'a is by liieci, and has a few
agreeable airs in it—though nothing rising above
mediocrity. Th(' Archduke went away before, the
opera vva.s over. Royal [lersonagcs labour so very
hard ; and the Archduke was to leave Venice at four
the following morning, lie went in a .steamer to
view the sea-wall building at .Malainocco, and thence
is to proceed by steam to Trieste. Another steamer
accomjianied him; and the first people of Venice,
and all .strangers, were invited, as for a jiarty of
o 3

130

llAMBLES IN GERMANY

I)leasur(!. I had a sort of fore-feeling 1 should not
like? it; for though I was assured the steamer would
niuk(! the voyage in the lagune on this side
Lido, 1 did not quite believe that to b(^ possible.
So it proved—the steamers took to the open sea,
which Will! rather rough; and themgh plenty was
provided to refresh and entertain the guests, very
little was eaten.

AND ITALY.

131

LETTKK XI.

Journey to Florence.—Cold and rainy Season.—Excursion to Val.
lomhrusa,

OcTOUF.B .'iOlII.

We have taken flight, ovtir plain, river, anti
mountain, and are arrived in the hesintiful city of
Italy—Firenze la Bella. W’e parted excellent friends
with the host of Flldtel d’ltalie, who had shown
liiinself anxious to ])lease, and fair in his dealings.
A vrMurino journey is always somewhat tediotis, and
the deep roiids neighbouring the l*o, having been
damaged by rain and flood, our prttgress was more
than usually slow. We were drawn by two admi¬
rable little horses, and their avaricious master taxed
their strcngtii to the utmost. He had demanded
more from txs, alleging the necessity of extra horses,
but grudged the price asked, and went on merely
with his own. The stinginess of this fellow had
its reward in riches, for he told us he W'as called II
Milioriuo. This it is that makes avariec an incu¬
rable vice. It ean never be satiated, for it ever
wants more; and it is seldom disappointed, for if

132 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

gains its ends more passively than actively, and its
success depends on self, not on others; but this it is
also that renders it so despicable. “ Tell him his
soul lives in an alley,” said Ben Joiison, when
Charles I. sent him a niggard gift. Tlie souls of
the avaricbms live in the narrowest of all alleys;
they are shut up in the dreariest solitary eon-
lineuient, from which they have not the spirit to
cscajie.

We contrived to i)eep at a few pictures. At Pa¬
dua, we paid a hurried visit to one or two ehurches
adorned by freseocs by some of the earlier masters,
admirable, for the artl(!ss gesture—the earnest, rapt
expression—the j)ower of shewing the soul breathing
in the face, hh ery painter who aims at the ideal—
at expressing the ])urer and higher emotions of the
soul, ought to make a jjarticular study of these early
Christian jraintings ; they must not imitate them—
true genius, indeed, cannot imitate. He can catch
the light which the labours of his predecessors throw
over his path; but he will proceed on one shaped
out by himself. To imitate Perugino would be
to MTite poetry in the obsolete language of Chaucer.
Yet cverj’ English writer ought to be familial* with
the pathos, sweetness, and delicate truth of one of
our greatest poets.

I was sorry not to spend more time at Ferrara;

AND ITALY.

133

and in particular not to revisit the galleries, and
palaces, and churches of Bologna. To have seen
these once was no excuse for not seeing them again;
but 1 could not.

1 cannot say why, but the impression left on my
mind of the passage of the Apj)cnines»had been
unfavourable, and I ivas agreeably surprised to liud
the sccnciy far more varied—richer in wood, and
more jiieturesque tliun J expeettid. Thi; mountain
inns are all much improved since I last crossed.
Kveuing closed as the. valley in which Floreiu* is
situated opened befori; iisj the dciscent is i-apid,
ending almost at the gate of the city itself. We
traiersed it af its greatest length, fi’om the I’orta
San Gallo to SehneiderfF’s Hotel, where vciy un¬
comfortable rooms were assigned to us.

This, and the exjKaise of the hotel, made us eager
to tak(! apartments. I was instantly employed in
the wearisome task of tinding them. Tlierc are a
great many, but still it was difficult to find such as
wc wanted. There were several numerous and
handsome suites of rooms at a high price, and a great
number of narrow and uncomfortable ones tolerably
chca]). Neither suited us. We at last fixed on a
second floor, on the Lungo I'Arno. The rooms are
nearly all turned to the south, and look over the
river: they are not large, but they are clean and

134 BAUBLES IN GERMANY

neat. We arc sure of the sun whenever he shinesj
which is a great desideratum, especially in an Italian
winter, when the preseuee of sunshine often admits
of an absence of fire. We have engaged oiir rooms
for four months. It is veiy cold—as cold as it can
be in Engliuid.

NovEHUEK.

To cold has succeeded rain, with a few sunny days
to break the dreariness of the season; but I believe
you in England arc enjoying fine weather, and,
strange to say, we hear that in Rome and Naples
the rain is still more continuous and chill. Walking

is out of tlie question; and driving,-how 1 at

onc(! ciny and despise the happy rich who have
earriag<!s, and who use them only to drive every
afternoon in the Cascinc—^the Hyde 1’ai‘k of Florence.
If I eould, 1 would visit every spot mentioned in
Florentine histoiy—^visit its towns of old renown;
and ramble amid scenes familiar to Dante, Boccaccio,
Petrarch, and Macehiavelli.

Tlie fault of Florence is, that it is built in a basin,
too entirely and too closely shut in by mountains,
which collect the clouds, and render the air stagnant;
so that it is hot in summer; and in winter, when
there is snow on the Appenincs, sharply cold. Now
that there is no snow, the season being mild, we
have the other alternative of rain and mist. Some-

AND ITALY.

135

timns the Arno rises so high that it threatens a flood:
on these occasions, it is watched and guarded like a
wild ))cast, and every inch, as it rises, is jn’oclaimed.
J like to hear it, roaring and rushing in its course—

]*cr aver pace co* scgtiaci sui,”

as Dante says of tlic I’o; and any one firjtnessing
the turbulence of these tideless Italian rivers when
swollen by rains; who views their precipitate sjiecd,
and li.stonsto their thunder, as the mountain torrents,
named by the poet their pursuers, come dashing after,
to augment their fury—whoso sees this, is conscious
that in this passage Dante disjilays his ))eculiar and
high power of putting a sentient soul into nature,
and rc[)rcsenting it to our minds by images suggested
by a quick and poetic feeling of her vitality.

During the intervals between the rainy days, the
mists hang as dense and low over the city as they
used to rest over the valley of Dolgelly during last
year’s wintry summer. But when the sun does
shine, and when the smiles of Nature call me forth,

1 cross the Ponte allc Grazie—1 leave the town by the
gate of San Miniato, and asmid the steep hill to the
platform before the little elegant church (San Miniato
fuorc dellc mura) on which Michael Angelo delighted
to fix his eyes, calling it “ La hella mllanella.” From
the height, you command a view of the city,
crowned by dome and tower, of the Appenine that

136 KAMBLES IN GERMANY

slopes down to cradle it in its green lap; and of the
Amo, that, having forced its way among the moun¬
tains, now hurries on towards the marine ])Iain.
This view, and the climate also of Florence, was
injured not many years ago, when the forests, that
clothed riic mountain sides, were cut dowm, to be
replaced by the olive—a more profitable gi-owth. But
the removal of tin; forests opened the gullies of the
hills ; took awiiy the check formerly opposed to the
violent trainontana; which coll(!Cts its strength on the
snowy peaks, and rushes down the bared sides with
mightier power.

1 look on those glorious hills, and turn to a maj)
of Italy, and long to lose myself in their depths, and
to visit every portion of Tuscany; every smaller
town and secluded nook of which, is illustrious
through historical association. It is my dream to
set out some day on this ramble, and see places
untrod by the usual tourist; but now 1 cannot.

However, we could not resist the temptation of
visiting V^allombrosa. It is tme this is not the season
for excursions, autumn being too far advanced; but
a fine day gave us promise, we hoped, for the same
on the mon-ow : so we hired a vettura and set out.

The road skirts the river, and winds up the
Valdarno, the slopes of whose inclosing hills are
thickly studded with country seats. It was a

AND ITALY.

137

showciy day; but the sun shone at intervals, and
brightened the stream and mountain sides. The
road is new and good. At about one o’elock we
reached a small town where a cattle fair was going
on.* After some little delay, however, we got
ponies and a guide, and proceeded. We mow fell
upon a true mountain path, winding up the hill
beside a brawling torrent; the crags rose high
above, and the brauches of noble forest-trees were
spread over our path—truly they werc in the sear
and yellow leaf; but the place was the more conso¬
nant w'ith Milton’s verse—

Thick :is autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where tb’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower.**

As wc climbed higher, a shower of sleet came on,
and we anived wet through at the Convent. No
women are admitted within these sacred walls, but a
forestiera is built adjoining for our accommodation.

The grassy plain, or platform, before the Convent
is at the head of a huge gully or ravine, which

• “ What were tho turkeys a pound ? ** asked o\ir guide of some
l>easants returning from the fair. Seventeen quatrini,** was the
reply. It requires a complex sum to reduce this to Euglish value.
There arc bve quatrini to a crazic>—eight crazie in a }>aul—and a juinl
is about ; in addition, the turkeys were bought alive with their
feathers on, and the Italian pound conUins only twelve ounces. This
was the market price in the country. Every edible |>ayc a duty on
entering Florence.

138

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

slopes down towards the valley of the Amo. A
mist hung over the scene; but in summer-time it
must be—what it is named—Paradise.

Vallombrosa is situated on the verge of the
mountainous region of the Casentino. This distriet
is little known; it vies with Switzerland or the Tyrol
in beauty j covered by forests, resonant with streams,
the valleys that intervene are green and fertile.
Cortona is its capital. Its nobility is of high
antiquity, and the peasantry are attached to it with
a soi’t of feudal sense of vassalage.

We anived wet through. The lay-brother made
a g(K)d fire, and asked us what refreshment we
would have. We had already dined, so he brought
us some exeellent eoffee, and a chasse of rosolio, such
as is only to be found distilled by the Monks of this
Convent.

The rain made the scene dreary; but it ceased at
last, and we mounted our ponies. The sun broke
out as we descended; and the sparkling torrent
muraiurcd softly as it danced along. I hailed it
with delight, as one of—

** Li nisccllctti, cho de* verdi colli

Del Casentin discendon giuBo in Arno^

Facendo i lor canaii e freddi c molli

Verses are these that might refresh a thirsty wan¬
derer in a hot sandy desert. There is scarcely a

A.Vn ITALY.

139

spot ill Tuscany, and those parts of the North of
Italy, which he visited, that Dante has not described
in piK'try that brings the very sjiot before your
eyes, adorned with graces missed by the prosaic eye,
and yet which are exact and in perfect haniiony
with tlic scene.

There are three convents, Vallombrosa, Calinaldoli,
and Laverna, situated in the depths of the district
of the Caseutino, of which visitors make the tour.
Monks of old were wise to choose sjiots of extreme
beauty, however solitai'y, for their life of seclusion,
peace, and praise.

140

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER XII.

Art at Florence.—Cosimo Rosiaclli.—Ghirlaiitlajo.—Boato Fra An¬
gelico.—Poccctti.—Later Florentine School.

January, 1843.

Florence contains a multitude of various paint¬
ings, which to describe, or even to classify, would
demand a volume, and would require a knowledge of
the ai't, the elements even of which 1 do not possess.
1 have not the remotc.st pretension to beuig a con¬
noisseur ; nor do 1 say, as some have done, “ I do not
know what is called good, but I know what pleases
me”—giving it to be understood, by these words,
that they have an untaught instinct, transcending
culture of the student. I believe, in all matters of
art, good taste results from natural powers joined
to familiarity with the best productions. To read
sublime l)oetry, to hear excellent music, to view
the finest pictures, the most admirable statues,
and harmonious and stately architecture, is the
best school in which to learn to appreciate what
approaches nearest to perfection in each.

M. Rio satisfactorily proves that the modern art

AND ITALY. I ll

of painting resulted from tlic piety of the age in
which it had birtli. The adoration of images—or, if
that expression be too strong, the having I'ccourse to
images for the j)ur])Ose of conecntrating, vivifying,
and exalting the faith of tlie worshijipcrs—created a
demand (to use a phrase of the day) for ])K tMres on
religioiKs subjects. At first this was satisiied by
paintings of the llyzantine school, to which custom
gave sanctity. But wluai men of eminent ])iety,
gifted witli pictorial powers, turiied th(;ir talents to
rejtre.seuting bodily to the eye, the .Saviour of the
world, the chaste sinless mi-‘ber of God, or saints,
who through their faith form it portion of the hier¬
archy of heaven, and are admitted by tin; .ludge to
mediate, for their fellow-ereature.s, they depicted all
that their souls could conceive of sublime and holy
in the face of man, seeking to jiresent

“Of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.

It is with extreme delight that I have viewed some
of the works of the tdder riorentiue painters, who
excelled in pouitraying the human countenance
lighted up by the nobler passions. Simplicity and
innocence; rapt enthusiasm, or dignified repose, cha¬
racterise their various ])roductions. It has been re¬
marked that Shakspearc’s personages speak the very

Punidiae Regained."

112

llAMBLUS IN’ OEKMANY

words which wc may imagine that mr nohle selves
would say under the suggestions of certain passions,
dispositions, and circumstances. So it may he said
that every figure pmutcd by these higher ai’tists
looks an individual chosen among our species for
nobility of bearing and beauty of countenance, and
that their attitude and look strictly belong to them.
There is nothing theatrical nor afierted, which is the
Cliarybdis—nor anything constrained or inane, which
may be termed the Scylla of the art.

Among the compositions eminent for the conjunc¬
tion of the truth of nature and ideal beauty, is the
fresco of Cosimo llosselli, in the churcli of Saint
Ambrosio. The subj(!Ct is the translation of the
miraculous chalice to the cpisco])al palace. It is
replete with figures of various aspect, but all expres¬
sive of the sentiment of worship and admiration pro¬
per to the occasion. There is a group of women in
particular, which, if such lived and assembled in th<r
churches of Florence, show that personal beauty and
graceful dignity then existed among the sex in a
degree unparalleled elsewhere. But these evidently
are not mere portraits; and the painter, though
accustomed to associate with a race occupied by
nobler thoughts and desires than now for the most
part harbour in the brain and heart of women, yet
idealised his actual experiences.

AND ITALY.

143

There is another picture of this age, which to see,
is to feel the hapj)iness which the soul receives from
objects presented to the eye, that kindle and ele¬
vate the imagination. It represents the Adoration
of the Magi, by Ghirlaudajo, in the chapel of an hos-
])ital in the Piazza della Annuuziata. There! < one of
the Kings standing on one side of the \Trgiri, which
might (as the Apollo Helvidcre is said to have done),
create a passion in a woman’s heart. Where on
earth find a man so full of majesty, gcntlenc:ss, and
feehng ? There is a charming accessory to this
picture. In the hack-groin nl is represented the
Mui’der of the Innocents, in all its terror; hut
immediately in the fore-ground, on each side of the.
Virgin, kneel two children—the souls of the Inno¬
cents who died for Christ, and are redeemed by
him. The. attitude of these, babes, e..specially of one,
has that inexjiressible chann of innocence which
words cannot convey, and which since the creation
of man, the pencil has seldom been able to dejiict.

Led by the admiration which this picture excited,
I visited cveiy other in Florence by Ghirlaudajo;
they mostly bear the stamp of the power I have
mentioned. Vasari, albeit of a different school,
praises him highly, but chiefly for the naturalness
and truth with which he pourtrayed the feelings;
and speaks of the wonder excited by those effects,

144 KAMBLES IN 6EKMANY

and the pleasure they produced in the beholders.
Describing one of the paintings in a chapel of the
Church of the Santa Trinita, at Florence, represent¬
ing the Death of St. Francis, and the gi’ief of the
monks, he says, "there is one friar who kisses his
hand; and it is not possible, in painting, better to
pourtray the expression; and there is besides a
bishop, with spectacles on, who is singing vespers,
not hearing whom is the only testimony that it is a
mere painting.”

Lanzi speaks of his perfection of outline, grace of
attitude, truth of ideas, and of his facility and rare
diligence. He was the master of Michael Angelo;
and, it is said, envying the talents his pupil dis¬
played, contrived that he should quit paiuting for
sculpture. But this, 1 have no doubt, is a calumny.
He is one of the most ])rolific among the early
Florentine painters; but, among his many pictures,
1 liked none so well as the Adoration of the Magi
1 before mentioned, and the Life of St. Francis, in a
chapel dedicated to this Saint, in the Church of the
Sauta Triiutii.

The Bcato Fra Angelico surpasses all his con¬
temporaries in the celestial sweetness he infuses
into the countenances of his saints and angels.
We may believe ourselves regarding the blessed in
the kingdom of heaven, as w'e look at these creations

AND ITALY.

145

of a mind cradled in love, charity, and devotion.
Fra Giovanni, of Fiesole, knonTi as the blessed Fra
Angelico, presents in his life the very type of a
Christian ecclesiastic. He gave himself wholly up
to ])iety and good works. His humility was such,
that when Pope Nicholas V. desired to ..lake him
Archbishop of Florence, he represented to his Holi¬
ness that he did not feel himself formed to govern
the many, and im]>lorcd him to name another more
worthy in his stead. “ It apjiears, from this holy
man,” says Vasari, “that the monks of his time
did not desire to obtain tlu’se burtheusonie honours
which they did not think that they could worthily
fulfil, and were ready to jneld them to others whom
they judged more capable—as did this truly angelic
father, who spent his life in the service of God,
and in benefiting the world and his neighbour;
and what more can be desired by man than by living
holily to attain the kingdom of heaven, and acting
worthily to acquire eternal fame on earthFra Ange¬
lico was no lazy priest—besides his works elsew here,
Florence abounds with lovely images w’hosc serene
and blessed faces breathe the virtues of their author.
The delicacy and softness for which he is remarkable
never degenerates into insipidity. His pure taste
made him conceive the highest beauty, his faith gave
him a foretaste of beatitude, and he adorned with

u

146

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

these attributes the beings whom alone he consented
to represent, the saints and angels of Paradise.*

We had a curious scene in the sacristy of the
church of Santa Maria Novella, whither we went to
hunt for one of the works of this angelic artist:
the reliquaries mentioned by M. Rio; consisting of
two tablets painted with a series of miniatures, repre¬
senting the Life of Jesus Christ; the Last Judg-
)ucnt, in which the beatitude of the elect appears
in all its living ecstasy, and St. Thomas Aquinas and
Albert the Great, surrounded by their disciples.
For a long time the keys could not be found of the
cbjset in which these reliquaries were deposited;
atiil a most active hunt after them was made. At
length they came to light, and the tablets were
brought out. The Dominican, who took every
pains to iind them for us, had lately arrived from
Ihnne, and had never seen them. His almost
childish delight, as he regarded the inexpressible
loveliness of these exquisite miniatm’es, was highly
amusing. Whenever you have to do with an
Italian, you do not encounter the doltish ignorance

* “ Thf runipiiuctioii of man’e heart—its aspirations towards God_

the rapt ccslacj-—a fivn-taste of celestial beatitude—all that class of
profound and exalted emotions which no artist can n-present without
having previously ex|)rrienred them, formed, as it were, the mysteri¬
ous circle which the genius of Fra Angelico delighted to follow, and
when ended, he tecommcuced with renewed delight.”—£a Poetie
Chreliemt.

AND ITALY.

147

of an English clown, nor the dogged sulleuness of a
German. He takes pleasure in your pleasure, and
interests himself in the objects which arc exciting
your interest, in a inauucr at once gratifying to ns
and honourable to himscU*.

Of a later age is Poccetti, unnamed by Vasari,
because, when he wrote, he had not painted the pic¬
tures which render Jiim one of the most admirable
fresco painters in the world : Florence is full of his
works, and every one may he visit<;d with pleasure
and profit, for he depicts Nature in her truth and
yet in her elegance;—if that^i d denoti^s the power

of displaying in the demeanour and attitude, and
countenances of men, their souls defecated of every
meaner quality—dignified through unafleiled self-
forgetfulness—animated by charity—beaming with
faith.—One of his most renowned works is a series of
frescos in the cloister of the convent of the Suntis-
sima Annunziata: they represent the conversion, holy
life, and death, of. seven Florentine geiitleincn, who
dedicated themselves to religion under the name of
Servi di Maria. The aspect and hearing of these
holy men mark them as gentlemen in the best sense
of the word. Men, “ generous, brave, and gentle
and, in addition, animated by earnest benevolence
towards their fellow-creatures, and lively faith to¬
wards the divinity. Perhaps, however, the most
• H a

148

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

sulniirablc of his works is the cupola of a chapel,
hclouging to the church and convent of Santa
Maria degli Aiigioli. It is painted in fresco, and
represents the Saints of the Old and New Testa¬
ment ; the more heautiful portion is the congregation
of female •saints—Saint Cecilia, the musician; Saint
Clara, the nun; Saint Catherine, the hridc of Christ,
&c. Tlic foreshortening is admirable, the spirit and
grace of the attitudes worthy of the highest masters
of the art.*

Such is the spirit that animates the earlier school
of Florence. But as painting became more of an
art, and grew to represent domestic scenes and
jmrtraits, artists brokt; from the confinement of
mere religious subjects, or treated them in a
mundane manner. Then it was that their ima¬
gination so degenerated, that they had recourse
to jiortraits to rejiresent Christ, the ATrgin, and
the Saints; some of them even fell so far from
the ideal of sinless chastity, as to paint their
mistresses and women of unworthy life; offering
to the worship of the pious, the image of mere
physical beauty, without the superior grandeur of
moral excellence.

♦ “ The Ciuule>Book of Florence/’ by Fautozzi, is very complete, but
it ^ants nn iudcjc of the names of the artiste, with the numbers of the
pages in ^hich they are mcuuoiicd, cited, to enable the amateur at
once to learn where to hod their various works.

AXD ITALY.

119

I must confess, that any rules (except the imniii-
tablc laws of moral rectitude) that tend to limit the
objects on which man is to exercise his faculty of the
imagination, appear to me contraiy to the scope of
our creation. We arc so far from being all born
possessed of equal jiowcrs of mind, that’smcc the
world began there has been scarcely a hundred
among us capable of the higher flights of th(“
intellect. How few possess, in any degree, the
ca])acity of becoming painters, and far fewer are
tho.se who arc able to ri.se to aq exalted order of art.
We ought to know what thc®aighest is,—that those
who feel the power should endeavour to elevate
themselves to it; but beauty may be found else¬
where, and must not be rejected. Bigotiy is ever to
be eschewed in all that pertains to man ; to confine
jiaintcrs to one class of pictures, is to turn some
who would be great, if allowed to originate subjects
of a lower grade, into tame copyists, and humble,
lifeless imitators of the thoughts of others. As well
insist that all poets should write hymns and heroic
poctrj^, as that painters should confine the jicneil to
the delineation of the conce])tions of religions
mysticism.

The genuine school of Christian idealism is, for tin
present, come to an end. And I confess, as far as
I may be allowed to judge, that it strikes me that tlie

150

RAMKLES IN GERMANY

Germans of the present day, who are endeavouring
to revive it, fall into the same mistake as our
sculptors, who cm])loy tliemselves in imitating the
ancients;—they are good copyists, but are never
original. And what appears to prove this is, that the
Gcrinani-' are not content with endeavouring to repro¬
duce that composed and severe exjuession which the
earlier painters yet knew how to ally to vitality in its
highest sense, but they return to the dry colouring
and meagre composition, w'hich is the chief defect of
the infancy of painting.

Still, there can be iio question that in poetry,
music, or the plastic arts, the ideal must rank above
the merely imitative. Those painters who can
embody ideas conceived in their pm’cst and most
elevated contcmjdations, far removed from vulgar
and trivial reality, are the greatest. Artists, how¬
ever, arc men fonned by nature with the peculiar
eye to sec and represent form and colour; and it is
not strange that the majority among them should
tuni to the study of thes<;, and view in the perfection
of representing the one or the other, the aim of their
labours. Thus the study of nature succeeded to
the ideal; art fell lower afterwards, and became the
copyist of art; and ancient statues grew- to be the
models from which modem painters strove to gain
inspiration, till the uniformity, stifihess, and even

AND ITAL\.

151

deformity thus produced, induced others, who per¬
ceived these faults and their cause, to have again
recourse to natm’e.

Jhit these remarks tend beyond the limits of my
knowledge, or even powers of observation. I have
mentioned pictures not much visited cxcdJjjt; oy the
cm’ious, just to shew the w'ay towards, not to guide,
you (for I cannot), in your .search after pictorial
execllence: nor will I long dcitain you in the more
beaten road of the j)ublic galleries.

152

KAMBLES IN GEBMANY

LETTER XIII.

Tlie Gallery.—Palazzo Pitti.—Lc Belle Arti.—Portrait of Dante.—
The Churches.

With slow steps my feet almost unwillingly first
moved to the collection in the Reali UjBBzi. As I en-
tered the Tribune I felt a crowd of associations rise
up around mcj gifted rwitb painful vitality. I was
long lost ill tears. But novelty seems all in all to us
weak mortals; and when I revisited these rooms,
these saddest ghosts were laid; the afilietion calmed,
and my niiiid was free to receive new impressions.

The Tribune is adorned with the selected chefs-
Ucauvre of the best artists of every school, in addi¬
tion to some of the finest ancient sculpture in the
world. The matchless statue of the Queen of
Beauty reigns over the whole—^Venus, majestic in
her bending softness, which once to sec does not
reveal its perfection. There is here one of the most
beautiful of Raphael’s Madonnas—one of the eight
which M. Rio mentions as among the chefs-
d’amvre that Raphael executed in the short interval
of two years, during which he especially dedicated

AND ITALY.

153

liimself to multiplying representations of the Virgin,
for whom from ehildhood he had felt an especial
devotion. *

Here is the master-piece of Andrea del Sarto, a
jiainter of very high, though not the highest, merit.
He wants warmth of eolouring, fire of P.^yircssion,
and variety of invention j while he has been named
Andrea snnza T,rrori, from the purity of his outlines,
the graceful decoram of his jicrsonagcs, and the
faultless completeness of evci’y portion of his jiictures.

Perfection in drawing, of which Michael Angelo
was the great master, is the leading merit of the
subsequent Plorentinc school. It has not the glow¬
ing colouring of the Venetian, nor jiossesscs .artists
to compare with Raphael, Correggio, or Leonardo da
Vinci. Michael Angelo was its most glorious
cxamjdc—a man whom I do not dai-c eritici/e;
whom I will wait to mention till I have seen tin

* The eight wiiich M. Rio montions as having suen himself) uod ut'
fonning the glory of Raphael, as a painter of idea! and^niro beauty, arc—
the Virgin, of the Duke of Alba~~purchabcd aftcrwuids by Mr. CosucU,
and brought to Loudon.—The Vii^n, known under tlie name of Jjsi
Belle Jardiniere, now in the Louvi'C.—The Virgin of Palazr.o Tempi,
now at Munich.—The Vir^n of Canigiani, at Munich.—The two in
the gallery of Florence, which, for the lovers of this style, dim tin
glory of every other picture—especially that named the Madonna oi
the Goldfinch.—Of this M. Rio says, It may be boldly affirmed that
Christian art never rose to a greater height.”—The Virgin of tht
Colonna Palace, now at Berlin; that of the Palazzo Gn^ori; and the
Madonna of Pcscut, known as the Madonna del Baldachino*

II 3

154

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Sistinc Chapel, at Rome; to whose majestie powers of
conception every connoisseur bears- testimony, while
till there is something of extravagant—something
which is not absolute beauty—in most of his works
at Florence. The glorious Mcdicean monuments,—

• ' ‘ AVherc the ^^ntic shnffes of Night and Daj’,

Turned into atone, rest cvcrlaatingly;

\'(rt still are hi'ciithiiig.”*

—in spite of the magic art which makes them for
ever sit and sleep, yet jar with the sense of hannony
in form. His love of the naked w-as carried to a
curious excess. In tin; Tribune, is a Holy Family,
into whicli he has introduced a variety of naked
ligures in differiiut attitudes, that have not the
smallest connection with the subject of the picture,
Imt intrude impertinently to mar its effect.

A chaniiing Madonna of Correggio, kncehiig beside
the divine infant, adorns the Tribune; there is also
the portrait ternicd the Foruarina of Raphael; cer¬
tainly it is njt the Fomarina, for it does not at all
resemble her undoubted jiortraits, and it has been
doubted whether the picture be by Raphael. From
the Tribune, which, as a focus, collects the rarest and
brightest rays of art, branch off several rooms, dirided
into schools. One of the most interesting is that
containing the portraits of painters, by themselves.

Rc^ers’s ItalyJ

AND ITALY.

155

There is a stately chamber, dedicated to the Niobe
and her cliildreii, whose maternal, remediless grief
sheds a solemn sadness around. Tlie Florentiiie
school possesses specimens of its w'orst style, th{
inane, ex))re,ssionlcss nudities of Vasari and his imi¬
tators. In the room of bronucs is the mbthd of the
I’erseus of Henvenuto Cellini, and there is si.oiething
more sjnrited and graceful in bis attitude than in th<'
larger bronze in the Piazza. There is the model of
the. glorious statue of John of Bologna, which Shak-
speare we might think had seen when he spoke of
the “herald Mercury;” and a David of Donatello,
neither imitated from ancii it scul])tiu’c, nor con¬
ceived under their inspiration. There is all the
verve of an original idea; the 3 'outhful hero is
neither Mars nor Hercules; he is the inspired
Hebrew shcjdierd boy, who derived his victory from
his faith. The galleries which run round three sides
of the square, from which open the various rooms,
arc hung w'ith many pictures, and adoriu^d by a series
of the busts of the Roman Emperors, and by a num¬
ber of statues. Just belovv the comice is a range of
highly interesting portraits. Paul Jovius had made
a vast collection of original portraits of all the illus¬
trious personages of his time, and placed them in
the palace of the Conte Giovio at Como. Cosimo I.
sent a painter, celebrated for his portraits, Cri.stofaro

150 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

dell’ Altissimo, to make copies, and these are here
hung up.

AVith the exception of the Tribune, the collection
in the I’itti Palace exceeds that of the gallery.
There are here pictures from every school; and by
going ofttn, and selecting befoi’ehand the master
whose, works I wished to see, I have sjjcnt many a
morning with delight. Once or twice I have gone
merely to refresh my eyes w'ith a marine view—a
sunset by Salvator Rosa; it is a jucture all calm, all
softness, all glowing beauty; and, during the misty
and darker days of thi.s misout/um winter, I have
gone—as 1 would in England—to warm my heart
anil imagination by the golden hues of a sunnier
ailti purer atmosphere.

The gallery of the Belle Arti is rich in paintings
of the olden times, when the soul worked more than
the hand ; when the artist sought, in the first place,
to conceive the sublime, and the glorious endeavour
bore him aloft among the angels and saint.s, whose
blissful ecstasies he was enabled to represent. AA’hy
did not some among these great artists ])ortniy the
other passions that ennoble our natiu-c ? AA^e have
portraits of great men, w'orthy of them, it is true j
but the ideal of the warrior who would die for his
country—nay, I may say, of the lover w'ho loves unto
the death—the representation of such men and women

AND ITALY.

157

as Milton and Shakspcare have embodied in verse, is
not to be found in the works of these painters; or
only found, because among their groups of wor¬
shippers at some miracle, we see the power of great
actions sit upon the brow, and add majesty to the
gesture of some among them. IVlientJicy por¬
trayed earthly love, they betook thcmsclvt.' to my¬
thology, and depicted passion, without the touch of
tender fear which must ever mingle with, and
chasten the affection we feci one for another. As
far as I remember, there is no jucturc such as
would idealise Ferruccio F<;rruccini or Bayard—^nor
can I recollect the represt itation of mutual and
tender love in any picture by a great artist, with one
exception—that called the Three Ages of Man,'by
Titian—the original of which is in the Bridgwater
collection; and there is a line copy in Palazzr>
Manfrin, at Venice. The cxjiressiou of the lover’s
face seems to say, “ I love a creature who is mortal,
and for whose safety I fear; yet in her life I live—
without her I die;” and she catches the light of
tenderness from his eyes, and the two souls seem
fused in one commingling glance; but there is
nothing to shock the most bashful mind—love is
evidently hallowed by that enduring affection which
is proof against adversity, and looks beyond the

158 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

One of the most interesting paintings in the world
has been lately discovered at Florence; tlie portrait
of Dante, by his friend Giotto. Vasari mentions that
Giotto was employed to paint the walls of the chapel
of the Palace of the Podcsta at Florence, and that he
introduced into his picture a portrait of his contem¬
porary and dear friend, Dante Alighieri, in addition
to other renowned citiaens of the time. This jialace
has been turned to the unworthy use of a public
prison, and the desecrated chapel was whitewashed,
and divided into cells. These have now been
demolished, and the v-liitewash is in jiroeess of
being removed. Almost at tlu! first the portrait of
Dante was tliscovercd: he makes one in a solemn
procession, and holds a flower in his hand. Before
it vanishes all the preconceived notions of the
crabbed severity of his jihy.siognomy, which have
originated in portraits taken later in his life. Wc
see here the lover of Beatrice. His lip is proud—
for proud, every contemporai 7 asserts that he was
—and he himself confesses it in the Piirgatorio;
but there is sensibility, gentleness and love;
the countenance breathes the spirit of the Vita
Nuova.*

♦ The coniiuoii prints taken from tUis picture are very unworthy of
it; thej seem to suhsiitutc sensunliiy foi seusibiliiy, in tlic lines of the
countenance. Mr. Kirkup's drawing, made for Lord Vcniou, is excel*

AND ITALY. 159

I often visit the various churches of Florenct;.
The old i)aintings to be found in them attract me „
but you must not imagine that the interior of these
Florentine cathedrals and churches is to be compared
to our Gothic edifices. The sj)acc within a large
building of this sort often defies the talT;]]t of the
architect: the Greek temples had but small interior
shriues. Their rows of columns may be said to bear
resemblance to the tniiiks of trees; while the capital,
and architrave, and roof, does not imitate the shadowy
boughs, though their pui’jiosc is the same. Gothic
architecture, on the contra*-y, resembles the over¬
arching branches, and imparis the same solemn tran-
(juillity as the aspect of a venerable avenue or dark¬
some glade. The Italian architects seem not to
have known well what to do with the vast spiice
enclosed by the majestic walls of their edifices.
They afl'orded glorious room for the jiaiuterj but
where not adorned by him, they are bai-e, present¬
ing no image of beauty, and inspiring no solemn
feeling. The pictures and sculpture we find arc,

lent. Uofortunatcl)', iti removing the wiiitewasii or plaster, u slight
injury was done to the eye in the picture. Tlie painter employed by
the Grand Duke has restored this; but Mr. Kirknp is indignant with
the lestoratiou; and tho print, taken from his drawing, exhibits tiie
bleiuish. i cuiifesb, that to uio the icstoratioii secuis judicious. The
ball of the eye alone was injured; and as the colour of Dante’s eyes
was known from other pictures, the portrut has gaitu-tl in ex||C88iou,
aud not lost in authenticity by its being repainted.

160

KAMIILKS IN (iERMANY

however, sources of ever new deiijrhf; it is here that
w(! may study the infancy and proj'irss of the art—
here also, alas! we may ]»ereeive its dcfceneracy—
till, last ai 'orst of all, we see raising to the W'alls,
ou which niiiiiitabh; friiscoes nrv fading away, daubs

that-J am in t fond of ill-natured eritieism, so

will say no more.

Let us turn, rather, to the gates of tlu; llatistero,
worthy of I’aradisi*. Here we view all that man can
achie-ve of beautiful in sculpture, when his con¬
ceptions rise to tin; height of grace, majesty, and
simplicity. Look at these, and a certain feeling of
exalted delight will enter at your eyes and penetrate,
yoni' heart, which is tlu; praise to which a painter or
a .V uljitoi asjiires. Mor forget wdien you visit tin
chiu’ch of Santa Croce, to look at some fast-fading
frescoe.s, on the loggic of a jialaee, on the right hand
of the iiiazza. The perfect taste exhiliitcd in the ease
and dignity of attitude and gesture of the figuri's
will well reward you for careful examination.

AM) ITALY.

IfSl

LKTTEH XI\

Tlic Il'irboMai'i.

Of late )vars lia> Itfcn a sjiirit in Italy

tending towards iiujirovcnicnt ; tliis, iierhaps, is loss
outwardly developed in Flo cuce than elsewhere,
yet here also it exists. IVilitically and materially
considered, T'xsc.any is looked upon iis the h' st
goviTued and liaj>pi(.‘st Ttalian state, hut in so-' e
respect-- M-i i-iv cireuinsfance. has kept ' ack its
inhabitant-. 'I in, foreign power that rules Lombardy
exciting tuidisguised haired, and tin- misrule of the
I'opes being beyond all question quite intolerable—
the people of those states are in avowed opposition
to government, wdiile in Tuscany there is little to
complain of, beyond the torpedo influence of a sys¬
tem of things that undeviatingly tends towards
the deterioration.

The reign of Leopold I. was the golden age of
Florence. He was grandduke at a time when a good
sovereign was the dearest wish of a people, and the
notion of governing themselves was not looked upon

162 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

even as desirable. The French came next, and the
tendency of their government was alw'ays to destroy
the nationality of any people subdued by them.
But this had a certain good effect in Italy. The curse
of that country is its divisions,—while the other
nations ,(»f Europe, in the middh; 'ages, became
divided into feudal tenures, and possessed by nobles,
who, unable to maintain their independence, at last
became mere courtiers of an absolute monarch,—
Italy was divided into municipal republics, or small
states,—the mutual rivalry and quarrels of which
were the fatal causes that France and Spain dis¬
puted alternately, making Italy their field of battle,
and Italian met Italian in opposing fight; and
Pisa was willing to aba.se Florence ; and Bologna
gloried in the misfortunes of Ferrara:—the union of
the whole of northern Italy under the French was
the first circumstance that checked a spirit so inimi¬
cal to all prosperity,—all improvement.

When the French were driven from Italy the
}ieninsula became politically Austrian. The Austrian
cabinet directed all the councils, and guided every
act of the various states. If Ferdinand contrived
to maintain a more beneficent internal govern¬
ment, it was only because the Tuscans shewed
no inclination to join in the revolutionarj^ move¬
ment. But while Austria substantially ruled the

AND ITALY.

163

whole, it was well aware of the benefit to be derived
from disunion, and it stirred up the spirit of discord ^
by a curious contrivance j—a tub was thrown to the
W'halc;—the govcrnincnt ordered the institute of
Milan to occupy itself in the reform of the National
Dictionaiy, and hence arose a fierce battl<? .between
the Della Crusca Academy and the authors of thi;

“ Proposta” on the score of language. Did the
Italians sj)cak Tuscan, or Italian? such was the
mighty question that engrossed the learned of Italy;
it was never started among two or three men without
exciting the most violent ])arVy feeling, and for many
years it set Tuscan against Lombard. Monti, by no
means a pure political character, is accused of under¬
taking this war to please the Austrians, with his eyes
open to the end in view. His son-in-law, Pcrticari,
who shewed him.self veiy earnest in the discussion,
was too much honoured and loved, hLs memory is too
entirely reverenced, for him to be open to the same
accusation. For seven years the battle raged, exciting
a virulence of party and municipal feeling, quite
inexplicable out of Italy. It ended at last, as the
question of big-endians and small-endians terminated
in Liliput, by every one breaking his egg at whichever
end he pleased;—^the Lombards came to the conclu¬
sion that the Tuscans might like their language
best if they chose—and they must choose^ for it is
not only the purest and the most idiomatic, but it

164 KAMBLES IN GERMANY

is the only language at once spoken and written,
except, indeed, the Roman; but that is veiy inferior
in strength and vivacity.

Other influences were at work in Italy to turn the
Italians from such puerile contests. Tlie sect of the
Carbonari had spread throughout the peninsida, and
the hope of throwing off a foreign yoke and achiev¬
ing more hberal institutions animated cvciy Italian
heart.

Colletta, in speaking of the Carbonari, considers
this sect to be derived from the Freemasons of
Germany—^transported, into their country by the-
Ncapolitan exiles of 1799, on their return. I have
heard Italians well versed in the secrets of Car-
bonarisin deny this. They say that the deeply
rehgious and mystic spirit of the sect at its com¬
mencement, proves its Neapolitan origin, and that
it was founded by men, Neapolitans themselves,
who knew how to adapt their doctrines and their
rites to the temperament of a people, at once super¬
stitious and lovers of the marvellous.

The hojies of political liberty w'liich all nations en¬
tertained when the armies of the aUics quailed befiare
those of repubhean France, found an echo in Naples;
while Ferdinand and his queen, who before the French
Revolution had shown an inclination to imitate Joseph
and Leopold of Austria, in reforming the law's of their
kingdom, taking sudden fright, indulged in such acts

ANK ITALY.

165

of arbitrary power as incited rather than repressed
the desire for change. Many Neapolitans, therefore,
welcomed the French with euthnsiasni, and rejoiced
in the flight of their sovereign. The liberators, as
they dehghtcd to call themselves, soon, however,
showed the cloven loot, and apjiearcd in tJieir true
light, of invaders and spoilers. The hearts of
all real lovers of their countiy were alienated from
them ; and if Ferdinand, on his return, during
Napoleon’s e.\i)cdition to FgJiit, when the French
w'cre driven from Italy, had shewn himself mode¬
rate and forgiving, he had aetjuired the alfection of
all his subjects. But both he and his queen seemed
to be driven mad liy hatred and terror of the, new
doctrine of a people’s riylU to be well governed.
E.veeutions—the most barbarous iiujn’isonmcnts—
persecutions that, blinded by fury, rather attacked
a friend than forgave an enemy, followed their resto¬
ration. All the constitutionalists or republicans
fled—some to France, Germany, or Switzerland,
some to the wild and pathless mountains of the
Abruzzi and the Calabrias.

When the French returned, the situation of the
exiles was not mended; and many among them con¬
tinued to dwell in unknown and savage retreats,
among the inaccessible mountains and solitary valleys
of those regions. They lived without any bond to

166

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

unite them topjcthcr, yet not so isolated but that they
frequently met, and communicat(;d to each other their
hopes and jirojects. More than the Boiubon who
had perscimted them, they hated the usurpation of
the stranger. Tlic most earnest desire of their hearts
was to drive the French from their eountiy, while
some among them, looking beyond that time, revolved
the means of strengthening their party, so that a
republic might be instituted; or, at any rate, if
Ferdinand returned, that he should be forced to
concede, just and free institutions to his people.

Among the refugees of Calabria, who were not to
be subdued by pcrsceutioii and adversity, was a
young man of high courage, strong understanding,
and gifted with wonderf'ul powers of pci’suasion.
Capo Bianco had first ap])earcd as the bold leader of
the militia of his native jdaec (in Calabria), and had
won the love, respect, and blind obedience of his
followers. lie jiossessed all the qualities belonging
to the head and founder of a sect. 1 am told that
he was handsome in person, and courteous in
manners, but of a stem and inflexible disposition;
se\cre towards delinquents, gentle and kind to the
inoffensive, and to his friends, lie added enthu¬
siasm to these (pialities, or he would never have
erected himself into the founder of a sect. He
abhorred the name of king—not because he had

AND ITALY.

167

been persecuted by his sovereign, but because the
power of royalty was detestable in his eyes—so that
not one among his followers ever dared name before ’
him Napoleon or Ferdinand; Austrian or French.
He would consent only to republican institutions for
his country; he de.sired the same government ^
prevail all ovi'r Italy, and argued warmly in favour
of Italian union and indejicndeuee. iSuch was Capo
Bianco, as be is represented by the friends who
survived him: he was tin; founder of the most
celebrated sect of modern times, and died on the
scaffold, a martyr to the cause he advocated.

Capo Bianco had taken shelter in a spot, to which
he gave the strength of a rocky fortress, among the
most rugged fastnesses of the hither Calabria; ht;
there defied the ])ower of his enemies. Nor did he
remain shut up : he frequently called together and
appeared among his faithful adherents; and, com¬
municating his bold projects, and warming them by
his persuasive eloquence, he induced them to believe
that the hour was come wdien they might unite with
the population of their countiy, to throw off the
detested yoke of the French usurpation.

The Carbonari, who have survived a time now
almost forgotten, relate how, in the silence of a dark
night. Capo Bianco assembled his most attached
friends near a poor hut, situated in the depth of a

168 RAMBLES IX OERMANY

thick forest, and then^ laid fhc nrst stone of the
edifice of his seel He cxplaim.d ,'.s principles and
its spirit, and cansi’d i.hcto to swear u fearful secrecy
on the cross. Fi’oui this focus the new association
spread, guarded hy trenjcndous oaths, and by menaces
ofi a drcailful vengeance to be taken upon traitors;
by all the pvceautioii, resolution and terror, that its
originator eould devise. He gave his adlierents the
name of Carbonari, because the society was founded
lu !i -hstrict principally inhabited by charcoal
burners; •nd nieii vli.' Ibllowed that trade were
an'O’.ig till lirsl, ^ippertainiiig to the lower classes,
who were initiated into the secrets of the sect.
They, descending from (be mountaiiis for the pur-
jioses of traffic, carried with them and propagated,
wherever they n’cnt, the tenets of their founder.

Cajio Bianco understood the disposition of his
countrymen, and gave a rehgious and mystic
colouring to his society. Striking rites were esta¬
blished; the initiation ivas terrible; the lessons
taught often apparently abstruse; the end was
.single—^to overturn monarchy in all its fonns, and
erect republics on the ruin of thrones. To attain
this among a people pious to superstition, it was
necessary to mingle mystic tenets with political
opinions; in short, to erect and disseminate a
political religion; and thus, not long ago, Carbo-

AND ITALY.

169

narism was professed, and found proselytes among
the mountains of Corsica and Sardinia. The laws
of the Carbonari were, they declared, founded on
the equality of the gospel, and on the traditions of
Freemasonrj'. The initiated swore to take terrible
vengeance for the Lamb, sacrificed by the Wolves.
The religion of Christ was the lamb; kings were
typified in the wolves. They said that Jesus, who
was the Word of God, had been the first who pro¬
claimed upon earth the abolition of ancient servitude,
and taught brotherhood and equality among men.
He was therefore crucified by^ the wolves of his age,
and died an illustrious victim of tyranny. The
Carbonari swore to vindicate the death of Christ,
and to exterminate the race of wolves, that is of
kings, who inherited the gadt and infamy of the
assassins of the Son of God. To strike the vulgar
eye, fearful representations were made in their cere¬
monies, apt to excite the imaginations of a southern
people of a highly religious temperament, and the
proselytes pronounced tremendous oaths upon the
cross and the dagger. The initiation was accom¬
panied by various circumstances calculated to test
the moral and physical courage of the novices; and
the slightest sign of shrinking, caused them to be
irrevocably rejected.

The Carbonari Sad, like the Freemasons,

VOL. II. I

170 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

distinctive grades in their society; they recognised
each other by mysterious signs, and called them¬
selves by a secret name—that of “ Buoni Cugini,”
or good cousins. They took an oath to succour,
at their need, every other Carbonaro, and to defend
the honoirr of their women. They swore, if ever
they lhenis(!lvcs became traitors, to consent that
their bodies should be torn to pieces, burnt, and
the ashc.s cast to the winds; that their name
should be. cursed, and become a warning to all the
(’arbonari scattered over the face of the earth.

Carbonarism took deep root and spread rapidly.
At one time, Mui’at was induced to I<X)k upon it
as a means for eivili.sing the wild Calabrians, and
to regard it with favour. Bnt the sect hated the
French too niueh for this to continue. Ferdinand,
meanwhile, in his retreat at Na])les, spared no endea¬
vour to disturb the government of the invader,
and, if possible, to drive him from the kingdom.
Banditti were enrolled; a crusade preached by the
churchmen among the ignorant pcasantiy; and a
civil war ensued, at the horrors of which the heart
sickens. He heard of the growing power of the
Carbonari, and had recourse to them.

Already, indeed, led by Capo Bianco, the Carbo¬
nari had assembled in arms in the neighbourhood
of Catanzaro; they scoured the country, attacked

AND ITALY.

171

the towns, drove ont the partisans of the French,
and, raising a cry that the reign of Joachim had
come to an end, they hoisted the tri-coloured dag of
the sect, and set up wherever they could rejmblican
institutions. Become strong in the places of which
they had possessed themselves, they sent letters and
emissaries to every vendita, inciting the sectaries to
raise the standard of liberty and come to their aid.
Capo Bianco was the soul of all, and indamed their
zeal by his eloquence. “ My Italian brothers,^’ he
cried, “you are the slaves of the French. You have
changed masters, but not your state. Your new
rulers,—prouder, more insolent, and more rapacious
than those of old,—give you no repose, and you
lavish without. advantage your possessions, your
own and your children’s lives! Will you remain
slaves—^the scorn and mock of the stranger, who
heaps wrongs upon you—the victims of the inso¬
lence and rapine of a lawless soldiery?” It
were long to recount all the arguments of the
chief. He concluded by telling them that if they
joined his forces, they would command victory,
and Italy, liberated, would acquire greater splen¬
dour and power than she had ever before enjoyed.
“The destiny of our unfortunate country,” he
concluded, “ is in your hands; and posterity
will either bless or curse you for your deeds.”

I 2

172 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

While this was going on at one place, Ferdinand
^had given it in charge to Prince Moliterno, who was
at the head of the royal forces in Calabria, to treat
with other leaders of the sect, and invite them
to espouse his cause. The Prince had ever professed
republican ])rincij>les j and even then, while heading
an army in the name of Ferdinand, liberty and the
union and independence of Italy were the watchwords
he ado])ied. lie endeavoured to persuade the chiefs
of the sect that, by using their intlucncc to drive
out Murat, they would acquire such ])owcr as would
force Ferdinand on his restoration to give his people a
constitution, as, indeed, he had passed his royal word
to do. Many of the Carbonari, although at that
time the society was the mark of. persecution of
the French Government, shrunk from alliance with
a sovereign, whom they knew to be in his heart a
despot; while others among them gave ear to his
promises, and joined the royalists. Both ])artics,
royalists and Carbonari, while they thought it
iK'CCssai’)’ to unite to drive out the French, fostered
the secret hope that the victory once gained over
the stranger, they could easily get rid of their
confederate. Capo Bianco, however, never yielded,
nor gave car to the emissaries of the King. “ You
mistake,” he said to those of his partisans who took
the other course; " and whether the royalists are

AND ITALY.

173

victorious or defeated, you sharpen the sword that
will destroy you; and build the scaffold on which
I and my partisans will inevitably perish

Calabria was convulsed by these vfuious parties ;
every portion of it was in arms; and its rivers ran
red with blood. Tlieii, as is usually the ease in
countries which arc the jirey of civil war, the evil
was increased by the crimes of ferocious and lawless
men, who collected in bands and ravaj^i^dthc couulry,
intent only on booty, and ever ready to ilcstroy.
For two years Calabria could be said to belong

neither to the French, nor to Ferdinand, nor to the

•

Carbonari: each had the ujiper hand by turns, and
were, therefore, unable to clear the country of the
brigands that infested it. This state of things
could not continue, and Ihc French Government
resolved by extraordinary and terrible measures to
root out the banditti, and to include the wide¬
spread and powerful sect of the Carbonari in the
destruction. The atrocious and sanguinary methods
by which General Manhes succeeded in extirpating
the brigands is matter of history. Colletta recounts
it in his usual graphic and vigorous manner. In
his pages* you will find related also how Capo
Bianco was deceived, betrayed, and executed, to the

* CoUetta, Storia del Beame di Napoli, dal 1735, sino al IS?.*).
Libro viU cap. 53.

174 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

shame of the French General, lannclli, who laid the
snare by which he was entrapped. He died with
heroic firmness; intrepid and calm, he willingly
gave his life for the country and cause which he
devotedly loved. CoUetta, though no friend to the
Carbonari., and accused of being a partisan of the
French, yet reprobates the conduct of Murat to¬
wards the sect. “The violence and severity exercised
towards the brigands,” he says, “ ought not to
have been turned against the Carbonari, for the
bandits were guilty of crimes—the sect demanded
laws; the brigands were the refuse of society—the
Carbonari were honourable and honest men. Cai'-
bonarism dc^gencrated afterwards—but was then
innocent; it had been invited and approved by
Gtjvernmcnt, and its rites and tenets were ciwlised
and beneficent. Many friends of Joachim begged
him to disarm Carbonarism by mild and judici¬
ous measures; but anger, which was pow'erful in
him, prevailed, and kept him firm in his evil
couustds.”

During and after the fall of Murat and the
return of the Bomhon dynasty, Carbonarism, which
had never been destroyed, spread; and while the
restored king assumed at once despotic power, the
sect, finding every promise of freedom for Italy
broken, were the more zealous to acquire partisans.

AND ITALY.

17D

and to labour for the union and independence of
their unfortunate country.

Do not think that I advocate any secret society:
the principle is had. The crown of every virtuous
act and feeling is, not to fear the light of day. But
it must be remembered with what fearfij odds the
Italians have to contend; th(;y have not only openly
against them the whole fabric of their various
governments, hacked by an overpowering foreign
army; but a secret society is spread throughout
the country, the friend of existing institutions;—the
confessional is an engine of mighty power, diffused
through every portion of evei-y city, the most popu¬
lous ; entering every hut, the most retired; acting
on the fears of the timid and the credulity of the
superstitious; pandering to the bad passions of the
wicked and awakening the scru|iles of the pious.
Every priest bids his penitents confess, not only their
participation in any act or thought inimical to the
church or to the government—not only to denounce
father, husband, or child, who might trust to them
the secret of their lives—but to reveal every little
circumstance that may tend to discover the lovers of
liberty. Can it be wondered that men who wished
to regenerate their country in the face of so penetra¬
ting, so almost omnipotent a power, .should cloak
themselves in impenetrable secrecy, and strive to

176 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

check the influence by counter-terrors,—equally
aR'ful ?

• Fearful deeds were the result of the laws of the
society; the individuals that composed it, knowing
themselves to be supported by numerous companions,
and sheltered from detection by the secrecy that
veiled their name, lost their moral sense. The act,
commanded by a power to which they had sworn
obedience, ceased to be a crime, and assassination
was no longer looked on as a murder, but as an
execution; numbers of Carbonari, suspected or
really guilty of treason to their oaths, were assas¬
sinated all over Italy, especially during the latter
days of the society; and volumes might be filled with
the history of these tragedies. If any man to whom
the lot fell to execute the sentence of the rest,
shrunk from his task, he was considered a traitor,
and condemned to death.* Such was Carbonarism,
at the time when it shook kings on their thrones,
and made the sovereigns of Italy tremble. Calabria

* A young aspirant ms askody during the progress of bis initiation,
whether, if commanded by the society, ho would put hia own father to
death. He answered, ** Yes.*’ He was taken to a room where, by
some contrivance it seemed to him that he saw his father sitting at a
table shading his eyes with his hand. A dagger was given him :
** Your father is a traitor to the sect,” he was told, " strike! ” The
weapon fell from the youtli’s hand ; in an instant he was blindfolded
---hurried away—>set free in some distant spot—rejected from the sect,
as incapable of that devotion to the cause which was demanded of its
memben.

AND ITALY.

177

and the Abruzzi swarmed with sectarians; the society
was rapidly propagated throughout the kingdom of
Naples, whence it spread to Romagna, Piedmont,
and Lombardy; Vendite* were even established in fair
and tranquil Tuscany. Eveiy Vendita was a perma¬
nent conspiracy,—every Carbonaro an eijemy to the
reigning authority;—yet even sovereigns were their
accomplices, since they had made use of the society
to overthrow the dominion of the French in Italy.

The early Carbonari were men who wen; actuated
by deep-rooted love of their country, and detestation
of the vice, ignorance, and daveiy into which Italy
had fallen; they entcrtaincS tin; belief that means
terrible and unflinching could alone regcmcratc a peo¬
ple sunk in sujierstition and slaviwy. The triumph of
the Carbonari was the proclamation of the constitu¬
tional government at Naphfs. But even then the sect
was no longer the same. It had transgressed against
the great and permanent moral laws by which society
ought to be governed; it had been guilty of crimes
—now it sunk into feebleness. Its results fell miser¬
ably short of its proud promise; for its work had

* The gpots where the Carbonari assembled were called VendUe-^
or Places for 8ale-~Jn accordance with the fiction of their being sellers
of cbarcual. Thus, as wc should write over a shop ** Charcoal sold
here; in Italian, the phrase is, Vendita di Carbone.” Where thcie
was one Vendita, there could be no other within fourmiles ;—if another
was established within these limits, a schism ensued, and every endea¬
vour was made to put it down.

178 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

been undertaken by men who were not sufficiently pre-
]>arcd,—^who did not look to the future;—who were
often swayed by violent and capricious passions, and
whose priiiciples were rooted in scepticism. The pure
patriotism of its originators became tainted by the
personal ambition of their followers. At the very
heiglit of its success it was ignominiously vanquished.
Unable, from whatever cause, to resist the Austrian
invasion of Naples, in 1830—21, the constitution
they had erected was overthrown, despotism re¬
established, and the chiefs of the Carbonari cither
fled, or died on the scaffold;—the name became the
mark for persecution.

Still the sj)irit of the sect is not conquered;
all the outbreaks in the Peninsula may be traced to
its influence; and the different governments of Italy
have vainly had recourse to every means for its
extermination. They were unsparing in bribes to
traitors; tlu'y suborned spies; they sowed dissension
in its councils, and became jmssessed of ail its
secrets. On this account, not long ago, the society
was reformed, and became merged in other secret
associations, among which that named La Giovaiie
Italia, is principal. The heads of this sect are, for
the most jiart, exiled beyond the Alps; but, even
in banishment, they maintain their influence, and
machinate risings: above all, they sedulously keep

AND ITALY.

179

awake the spirit of national union. These new socie¬
ties can never be as powerful as the Cai'boiiari were
—they are but a shadow of that mighty influence;
but, if they have less power, they have committed
no crimes; and work by spreading knowledge and
civilisation, instead of striking terror. ^

It is to be regretted, that the patriofs of Italy
have recourse to darkness and secrecy to cany on
the regeneration of their country : for falsehood is lh<'
oflspring of mystery, and iutirgrity is destroyed by a
system that hides itself from the light of day. The
Italians must do away with oaths that cannot bind
the traitor; and the daggcr,*whieh makes a murderer
of him whose intent is virtuous. Tiny must sacrifice
the formula of union, and be content with dissemi¬
nating its spirit. Could they teach infle.\ible truth,
could they insj)ire military courages, did veiua'ation
for just and equal laws spritig from their lessons,
Italy were nearer the goal it ))ants to attain.

Meanwhile a certain good has arisen from a sect
which, however founded in love for their country,
has been polluted by many crimes. Carbonarisin
cannot be denied the praise of having co-operatt;d to
destroy the anti-social municipal prejudices, and the
narrow spirit of local attachment, which was long a
serious obstacle to the union of a country, divided
as Italy is into many states, and subject to the

180

RAMBLES IN OEBMANY

stranger. The Carbonari first taught the Italians
to consider themselves as forming a nation. It is
to be hoped they will never forget the lesson.
When the Roman considers himself, in his heart,
the countrjTnan of the Milanese—when the Tuscan
looks upop Naples as also his country—then the
power of the Austrian will receive a blow, which it
has hitherto warded off, from which it will never
recover.

AND ITALr.

181

LETTER XV.

Tusrany.

FRuatuRV^ ]8-l3.

Nothing is more difficult than for a foreigner
to give a correct account of the state of a country
—its laws, manners, and c istonis;—the (ir.st often
so different in their operation from what outwardly
apjiears; the latter, never fully understood. Proteus-
like, assume a thousand contradictory appearances,
and elude investigation. A stranger can only glance
at the sm’facc of things—often dcsceptivc—and put
down the results of conversations, which, after all, if
carefully examined, by no means convey the whole
truth, even if they arc free from some bias, however
imperceptible, either in speaker or hearer, the result
of which is a false impression—a false view.

An English person, accustomed to the gigantic
fortunes and well-ordered luxury,—^to the squalid
penury, hard labour and famine,—which mark the
opposite orders of society in his own country, is
struck by the appearance of ease and equality that

182

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

reigns in Tuscany, and especially at Florence.
There is poverty of course—but penury cannot be
said to exist; there is work—but there is also
rest: nay, there is no lack of enjoyment for the
poor—while the nobility, for the most part, scarcely
rise above tl>c middling orders; bankers and
foi'eigners being those who make most figure in
society, and that, except on particular and infre¬
quent occasions, on no magnificent scale.

Many reasons may be assigned for this equality.
During the ilourisliiug days of the rej)ubhc of
Fhmmec, a blow was given to the nobility of the
city and surrounding country, from which it never
recovered. Those nobles who still preserved their
titles and forttiues, were obliged to conceal all pride
in the former, in order to jweserve the influence
naturally resulting from the latter. The Medici
were merchants; and when an Austrian prince suc¬
ceeded to the extinct family, no change xvas operated.
On the contrarj’, it was, I believe, one of them,
Leopold I., who abolished the law of jirimogcniturc
in Tuscany. It is true, that the usual result of the
prohibition against entails in subdividing estates, is
frequently eluded. A father possesses absolute
power over his property, with the exception of a
tenth or twelfth, which is called the qmta legitima,
which must descend to his children, and be divided

AK» ITALY.

183

among them in equal portions. The same law
appertains even to the mother’s dowry—whkh
becomes her husband’s property. A man may,
therefore, accumulate and leave the whole of his
possessions to his eldest son, with the exception of
the above-named t/uota; and, when thi^ has been
done for some generations, large fortunes are ))re-
served. But it seldom is: and as a man has
absolute j)ropricty in his estates, a spendthrift can
alienate the whole for ever. The nobles of Tuscany
being for the most j)art without j)ridc of order, have
readily yielded to the spirit of their countiy, which
absorbs them in the democracy. At the same time,
the feeling of accumulation being extinct, no barrier
exists to prevent the dissipation of property : in the
hands of a young heir, extravagance and play (the
bane of Italy), soon bring to an end the fortunes of
an ancient name. Thus, 1 am assured, many of the
noblest families in Tuscany are reduced to poverty:
the capital of the country has fallen into the hands
of bankers, the majority of whom arc of Jewish
origin. A number of illustrious names, consecrated
in the pages of history, have almost disappeared.
They only mark the w’alls of palaces, empty of the
impoverished descendants of their fonner possessors.

This absence of accumxdatcd riches, of course,
checks the arts of luxury, mechanical improvements.

184 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

and all progress in the framework of soeiety; it
multiplies the numbers of those who are just raised
'above poverty; while the benignant nature of the
climate, and the abstemious habits of the Italians,
prevent the poor from suffering want. The country is,
for the most part, divided into small farms {podere),
cultivated by the family of the countryman [conta-
ditio) who holds them—^hc giving his labour, the
crops, and tools—the owner the land, dwellings, and
substantial repairs; the profits are divided, and the
rent, for the most part, paid in kind — a circum¬
stance which aids the farmer, and limits the fortune
of the owner. The country-people labour hard—
very hard, and live poorly, but they do not suflfer
want; and if there are no farmers so rich as with
us, there is no absolute agricultural distress.

In Florence itself the common people are well to
do. They arc, perhaps, the least agreeable people
to deal with in Italy; self-opiniated, independent,
and lazy, they can often scarcely be brought to work
at all; and, when they do, it is in their own way
and at their own time. They love their case, and
they enjoy it: they arc full of humour and intelli¬
gence, though their conceit too often acts as a
drawback on the latter. I speak especially of the
Florentines, as they arc represented to me; for
conceit is not a usual fault among the Italians.

AND ITALY.

l«f)

As I have said, an English person, aecustomed to
heart-piercing accounts of suffenng, hard labour,
and starvation among our poor, gladly hails a sort
of golden age in this happy country. AVc must
look on the state of society from a wholly different
point of view—^we must think of the hunger of the
mind ; of the nobler aspirations of the soul, held in
check and blighted—of the tendency of man to
improve, here held down—(if the peculiar and sur¬
passing gifts of genius appertaining to this people,
who are crushed and ti’od under foot by tlie jealousy
of government—to understand, with how dead and
intolerable a w’eight King *ljog hangs round the
necks of those among them, who regret the generous
passions and civic virtues of bygone times. The
Elorcntine reads of Filippo Strozzi, of Ferruccio
Fermccini, of Alichacl Angelo. He rememb(Ts
the pure and sacred spirit that Savanarola lighted
up among the free and religious citizens; he thinks
of the slavery that followed, when genius and valour
left the land indignant, and

^ For deede of violence

Done in broad day; and moi% than half redeemed
By many a great and generous Mciificc of self to others/’

what has come ? The poet speaks of—

" tbo unpledged bowl,

The Btab of the stiletto.”*

• Hogers’fc “ Italy.**

186 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

But those days, too, are gone; there has come such
hfe as the docks lead on the mountain sides—such
life as the idle, graceful fallow-deer may spend, from
spring-tide to rainy autumn, under the noble trees of
some abundant park; but where is the soul of man?
In the hands of those who teach him to fast and tell
his beads—to bend the neck to the yoke—to obey
the church, not God.

Nor is this all; especially among the rich; far—
far from it; for men, imless tamed by labour, can
never lead the innocent lives of the beasts of the
field: if darker crunes are unfrequent, yet vice
fiourishes, rank and uiieheekcd: the sense of honour
is destroyed; the nobler aficctions are crushed;
mental cultm-e is looked on with jealousy, and dies
blighted. In the young may be found gleams of
inextinguishable genius—a yearning for better
things, which terrifies the paicnts, who see in such
the seeds of discontent and ruin: they prefer for
their sons the safer course of intrigue, play, idle¬
ness—^the war of the passions, rather than the
aspirations of virtue.

Zh do nothmg has been long the motto of the
Tuscan government; had it been strictly observed,
still much might be said against it. Leopold 1.
was a good sovereign, a clever and liberal man;
Ferdinand, who succeeded to him, suficred many

AND ITALY.

187

vicissitudes of fortune during the period of the
empire of Napoleon; but he was not, like his name¬
sake of Naples, driven by adversity to cruelty and
arbitrary violence. When he was restored to his
throne, still it was his wish to keep his people hapj)y
and contented. It is his praise, that il^ authority
sheathed its sword and veiled its terrors, nor even
used the wholesome restraint of the law to punish
crime, it acted simply as a torpedo on the energies
of the land, nor used any concealed weapons. Fer¬
dinand constantly and resolutely refused to institute
a secret police in Tuscany. It was a story 1 reinein-
ber, told at the time, during the revolutionary period
of 1821, that the Austrian minister at Plorenee
presented a list of sixty Carbonari to the Grand
Duke, and begged that they might be arrested. “ I
do not know whether these men arc Carbonari,”
said Ferdinand; “ but 1 am sure, if 1 inipri.son
them, I shall make them such,” and rejected the list.
His successor, Leopold II., has not had the wisdom
to pursue the same course. The bane of Italy is
the absence of truth, of honour, of straightforward¬
ness ; the vices opposite to these nobler virtues have
now the additional culture which must ensue from
the circulation of a system of secret police, of spies,
of traitors.

Yet still the government is mild. In 31—32, the

188 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

throne of Leopold II. was shaken by several con¬
spiracies j and the revolutionary spirit of Romagna,
which tended to unite all Italy in one bond, had
numerous proselytes in Tuscany. But for a traitor,
it is supposed, that on one occasion the person of
the Grand Duke would have fallen into the hands of
the conspirators : at the eleventh hour the leader
took fright, and discovered all. On this, and on
other occasions, the arrests were not numerous; the
sentences (to us to whom treason and the gallows
arc quick following cause and effect,) mild; and
these even, after a few months, softened. Leopold
wishes his people to be qiiiet and happy—lie hates
violence : to pay a traitor to betray, and so to crush
a conspiracy noiselessly, appears to him wise and
judicious ])o1icy. In all respects he is averse to
strong measures. For many years no capital punish¬
ment has been inflicted in Tuscany; a fact, which of
itself demands our admiration, and must be replete
with good effects.

“ All this is true,” said an Italian to me; “ and
yet 1, who wish my countrj'men to cultivate manly
habits of thought and action, regard our state as
almost worse than any other. Tyranny i.s, with us,
a serpent hid among flowers; and I, for one, sympa¬
thise with the sentiment of a Florentine poet —odio
il tiranno die col sonno uccide. There are other evils

AND ITALY.

189

besides those which press upon the material part
of our nature, and the new generation in Tuscany
feels OTongs of another description. The better
spirits of our country pine for the intellectual food
of which they are deprived. Thus they tend
towards a new and better order of things? the more
diflScult to realise, because a timid and absurd policy
endeavours to throw cverj’ obstacle in the way to its
attainment.”

190

EAMBLES IN GEEMANY

LETTER XVI.

Italian Literature.—Manzoni.—Niccolini.—CollettAmari.

Italian literature claims, at present, a very high
rank in Europe. If the writers are less numerous,
yet in genius they equal, and in moral taste they
surpass, France and England. In these countries
everybody read.s, and there is a great demand for
books of amusement. M. do Custine remarks, that
the French write now for “ hs concierges et les
formats,” the ignorant and depraved; we write for
the frivolous. The uneducated and idle in Italy do
not read at all; and an Italian author writes for
readers whom he respects, or wishes to instruct: I
speak of the lighter literature. In the higher walks
we are lamentably deficient, while France boasts of
admirable historians. The Italians possess modem
histories to compete with France.

There has been a great revolution in Italian
poetrv’ of late years; and it has, to a great extent,
returned to the natui-e and character that marked

AND ITALY.

191

its outset. UTien poetry first assumed a form in
the Peninsula, Europe was still, if not in a barbarous
state, at least in the very infancy of cinlisation; and
Italy alone, among European nations?, taught arts,
science, and letters. The character of the youth of
modern Euroj)ean civilisation, with all ite defects
and all its charms, is indelibly impressed on the
literature of that age. The poetry of the first great
Italian poets s))rang from the complicated feelings
which a new sera awoke in them. When you
read their best productions, you feel that they are
animated by the energy proper to the young; and
even when they ap])ear to guide themselves by
ancient rales, the true soul of j)oetry, the youth of
the spirit, breaks its way through every obstacle.
The first Italian jjoets never obeyed, but on the
contrary resisted, Aristotelian rules. Dante, the
greatest of all—Petrarch and Ariosto, abandoned
themselves to the genuine im])ulsc of their minds,
and w'ere great;—^great, because free. The history
of Italian poetry confirms the truth, that the poet
follows the real and the sublimest scope of art when
he keeps in mind the character of his country and
of his age. The highest Italian poetry is truly
national.

The poets who followed were, with few exceptions,
imitators; they bowed to the rules of Aristotle, and

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

produced no great works. Since the faD of the repub¬
lic of Florence, poetry and eloquence, which ought to
have waited on the changes and advancement of civi¬
lisation, and to have harmonised with the thoughts
and manners of the country, failed to do so. Italian
painting left no path untried so to arrive at perfec¬
tion, and sought originality by a thousand different
roads; while poets were aftaid of novelty. This
is not strange. The creations of genius and the
inventions of the imagination are derived from,
and depend on, the moral culture of the intellect,
and this culture was shackled. After the six¬
teenth century Italy never enjoyed political liberty,
and the intellect of the country was unable to
develope itself with freedom. On this account
the Italians ceased to contemplate man and nature
in an original .manner: they were imitators of the
ancients, and in the sequel, imitators of imitators,
their literature even became influenced by that of
the French. No attempt was made to enlarge
its limits or to renovate its spirit; for such an
attempt, from political reasons, would have been
dangerous. Governments who are not strei^gthened
by public opinion, always shackle the free exercise
of the intellectual faculties. Writers both in
prose and verse, tbus grew to aim at grace of
diction and beauty of imagery, unsustained by

AND ITALY.

193

daring and original thought, or even by variety of
invention, which is more nearly allied to the enjoy¬
ment of freedom than is usually supposed. Yet,
notwithstanding these obstacles, Italian jioctry of
the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth
centuries, jiossesses high merit; and supli, so to
s[)eak, is its exterior beauty, that, had it greater
intrinsic ])ower, it would siu’jiass every other in the
world.

Towards the end of the eighteenth century the
dawn of a reform in every branch of human kiujw-
ledge may be perceived. Eveiy one felt the need of
having recourse to the real source.of insjiiration, tln!
ho])es and f<-ars which form the national spirit of the
age; among others Allieri rose. There can be no
doubt that he was the writer who best knew how
to echo the ])assions and hopes of his conternjiora-
ries. I pass over the names of the great writers
who, on every subject, shed lustre over Italy at
that time, and come at once to the authors of
the present day, who sprung up at the close of the
wars of the French empire, and may be said to be
the offspring of a bitter contest that arose at that
time among the literary men of Italy: and even
among these, I shall confine myself to the two
who possess the highest and most durable influ¬
ence, Manzoni and Mccolini; men who, in common

VOL. II. K

194 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

with other Italian writers of the present day,
reject letters as a tribute to frivolity, or means
to fortune; consecrating them to the advancement
of the great interests of their fellow-creatures,
desiring to make them, as Ijord Bacon expresses
himself, a rich storehouse for the gloiy of the
creator, and the relief of man’s estate.”

1 have mentioned in another letter how, under
Monti’s auspices, a great war of words began in
Italy: about the same period another battle raged
between what was called the classic and romantic
schools. It began in 1818, when Berchet, a poet of
merit, dcsccudcd suddcidy into the arena, throwing,
by way of challenge, a translation of the Leonora of
Burgher, accompanied by an essay, discarding the
old models and ]>lanting a new banner, beneath the
shadow of which the flower of the Italian youth
eagerly crowded to contend—displaying the more
enthusiasm, because under this literary discussion
was hid the hope of regenerating the political
opinions of Italy. The classists were not slow in
meeting the attack; and when they found their
authority, which had been respected for centuries,
was in danger of being overthrown, they hurried
to the rescue. Monti fought with them. Angry
ejiithcts, ridicule, abuse, were bandied about by both
parties in the ardour of fight, Book succeeded to

AND ITALY.

195

book; pamphlets and articles poured furiously
down, each breathing the ire of an earlier and
more uncivilised age. The Romanticists wished
to banish the mythology—^to make pgetry pati-iotie
—^that is, founded on national faith, chrouieles,
and sympathies. They added example tt), j)rcecpt j
Berchet published a volume of odes which met
with eminent success; the subjects were Italian,
and breathed great force of passion and feeling.
Grossi, the rival, or rather, as he calls himself, the
pupil of Mansioni, commenced with “ Ildegonda,”
a talc in vcr.se, founded on ^Milanese stoiy, which
was received with immense ap])lause. Manzoiii
published his “Carmagnola;” Pellico his “Fran¬
cesca da Rimini” and “Eufcmio da Messiua.”
Pellico, aftei-wards so sadly celebrated for his mis-
fortunc.s, was at this time tutor to the sons of Count
PoiTO. He projected founding a periodical work
which should serve as a common link between the
writers of every state in Italy. Porro and Gon-
falonieri seconded him, and hence arose a periodical
publication named “II Conciliatore ” (the Concili-
atoi'). Gioga, Romagnosi, Manzoni, Grossi, Bcrchet,
and Moritani contributed to its success, without
mentioning the pohtical contributions of Gonfalonieri,
Porro, Pecchio, Amvabene, and many others, who
were then secretly conspiring against the govem-

K 2

196 IIAJIJJLES IN GliEMANY

rnciit, and preparing the ill-starred revolution of
1820-21. The first mmiber of the “ Conciliatorc” was
published Thursday, 3rd Scjitember, 1818—it came
to an end in, 1820. From its birth the Austrian
governnient had decreed its extinction; but its short
life was ycx glorious, since it excited the public mind
to free discussion, and gave an iinjictus to letters.

JManKoni rose into notice as the poet of this jiarty.
His sacred hymns and his tragedy of “ Cariuagnola”
a])])eared at the tinu! when the literary war raged
hottest. His jioeins were received with enthusiasm.
“Carmagiiola” and “ \de.lchi ” were haded as na¬
tional and romantic dramas; their fame spread into
(jcrmany and France. Goethe sjieaks of them as
making “ a serious and jirofonnd inijircssion, such as
gn;at pictures of human nature must always create.”
“ L(^t the poet,” he says, “ continue to disdain the
feeble and vulgar portions of human jiassion, and
attcmipt only such high arguments as excite dec()
and generous emotions.”

To ns tlu^se tragedies appear, though eminently
beautiful as poems, to he failures as dramas. It is
not enough that passions and events arc developed,
we de.sire character also: they have not succeeded
even on the Italian stage, on which several of
.Vlficri’s have kejit their place. In the “Carmagnola”
the audience are at a loss on whom to expend their

AND ITALY.

197

sympathy. A vague and uncertain tone keeps us
in suspense—^not that suspense arising from the
mingled blame and admiration c.xcited by the hero,
which is the true foundation of dramatic interest,
but caused by a sense that the writer has no deter¬
mined object. Tlu! “Adelehi” is, in ])!ij'ts, more
interesting; but even in that we find no real hero.
Our symjiathy is most excited by Ermengarda; but
she is entirely episodical. These trageilies, how¬
ever, breathe a s])irit*that rendia-s them dear to
every Italian. They have for their subject national
events, which arc treated iii^ pow(M-ful and original
manner. Alfieri makes his Lombai'd princesses ex¬
press themselves like Grecian heroines: Manzoni
imbues himself with the spirit of the times; and
his personages sjieak and feel ^u his dramas, as his
creative imagination taught him that they did dur¬
ing life. More particularly this is found in the
“ Adelehi,” where the veil is for the first time lifted
from the intrigues of the Popes, who contrived the
overthrow of the Longo Bardi, and the .succcs.sful
invasion of Charlemagne, not in the interests of
Christianity, but in that of their own temporal
power; and the vain struggle of the falling Lom¬
bards, with the insolence of the invader and the
hypocrisy of the priest, is finely drawn. It is his
odes, however, that give high rank to Manzoni as a

198 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

poet. In these, his diction is exquisitely finished,
and his conceptions rise to the sublime. No reader
can fail of being carried away by the pathos and fire
of the chorus in Cannagiiola, describing the horrors
of the wars of invasion in Italy, which became civil
contests, ps the various states adhered to one or other
of the foreign powers, who poured down from the
Alps for their destruction. Tlie “ Cinque Maggio ”
is, out of his own country, the most ])opular of
Manzoni’s odes, but this thorns and the sacred
hymns obtain the greatest meed of praise in Italy.

The “ Promessi Sposi,” followed. This, to a certain
dcgi'cc, is an imitation of the romances of Walter
Scott: it rises above in grandeur of dcscrij)tion and
in unity and nobility of purpose, though in inex¬
haustible fccmidity tf character, the Scotch UTitcr
surpasses the Italian. The historian B.ipamonti sug¬
gested his subjects. The account of the Innominato
is to be found in his pages, as well as that of the
errors of a high-bom nun—of a sedition, a famine,
a pestilence—of the character and hfe of Fcdcrigo
Borromeo; but these, though suggested by history,
are treated with a poetic fire, an originality of idea,
and a vitality, which belongs entirely to Manzoni
himself. His tale is sustained by a moral, or rather
religious scope. He desires in his romance to prove
that society, both civil and political, is diseased, and

AND ITALY.

199

that Catholicism must be the remedy. Mauzoni is a
devout Catholic. He paints, with peculiar fervom-,
the merits and uses of a pious clergj'; and per¬
sonifying it under the names of Father CristofciD
and Cardinal Borromco, he shows the beneficial
influence it may obtain over the pcopl*; and the
nobility, of w’hom lienzo and Lucia, the Inno-
minato and Don Rodrigo, arc the representatives.
It is not the vulgar notion of bringing'forward the
Pope, with his anny of priests and monk.s, as the
regenerators of society, at which he aims; it is
the Christian sj)irit of resignation and self-denial
that he wishes to revive, and render the u^astcr-
feeling of the world. Manzoni is eminently pious
and resigned—this is the internal spirit; in form
he adheres to ancient Catholicism, which he regards
as the final tendency of humanity.

Manzoni was born at Milan in 1784. I have heard
that his father was a man totally without instruction;
while his mother, the daughter of the Marchese
Beccaria, author of the well-known work, “ Dei de-
litti e delle Pene,” was an accomplished and active-
minded woman. Manzoni spent many of his early
years on the Lake of Como, at the very spot where
he places the scene of his romance. In his youth
the Latin poets occupied his attention; he read
Virgil and Tibullus with delight—while in Italian

2()0

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

lie studied the works of tlie dnquecmthte: so that
1 have heard that his early unpublished verses
are conceived in the spirit of those writers. But
ho soon broke away from such fetters, lie read
and admired Dante, with the deep-felt enthusiasm
a poet nar.irally experiences for that sublime writer.
At the be{;;iiming of the present century Man/.oni
visited France, and listed for some years with his
motlier in Paris. In 1808 he returned to Milan,
and soon after, chicHy induced by the instigations
of his relations, he married a Protestant lady, the
daughter of Blondel, a banker of Geneva. They
visited Home, where the lady became a convert
to Catholicism; and, as I am told, converted also
her husband, uho heretofore had been sceptical or
careless on religious subjects—but udio, from that
hour, became an ardent and devout Catholic. He
|)asscs the greater portion of the year at his villa,
live miles from Milan; he secs little society, being
by disposition excessively shy. In 1831 he had the
misfortune to lose his wife, whom he fondly loved
and entirely trusted. I never bad the happiness of
seeing him: he is, I am told, of middle stature, of
gentle aspect, resembling the poi^traits of Petrarch—
and suffers somewhat from nervousness. He is pro¬
foundly versed in history, political economy, and
agriculture j and it is said is now occupied on a

AND ITALY.

201

history of Italian literature and a philosophical work.
In his tastes with regard to poeti’y not Italian, he
admires Schiller and Shakspeare; but, unlike almost *
every other foreigner, the .scepticism of Lord Byron
renders his poetry distasteful to him. Ilis soul is
filled w'ith love of the beautiful, the e)<;vated, and
the jjure. These cpialities shine forth particularly
in his odes, which, since Petrarch, arc the most
])erfect lyrics in the language; and among them,
the “ Inni Sacri” arc distinguished for the exquisite
finish and poetic fire that adorns the fervent piety
which they breathe.

It would be vain to sfttempt to say even a few
words of the swarm of romance writers that have
tried to follow in his steps, and who all deserve
the same praise of writing to instruct and elc\'ate,
and not, as is too usual with writers of fiction,
to amuse, and even corrupt. Out of Italy, Azeglio
ranks highest. Like all Italian writers of the day,
he is animated by a patriotic feeling. The desire
of destroying the prejudices that separate state
from state, made him, who is a Piedmontese, choose
for his heroes Neapolitans and Florentines. In
his first novel, “ Ettore Fieramosca,” he impresses
on his readers the lot'cbne.ss of the feminine cha¬
racter, depicting the purest struggles between
passion and duty. In “ Niccoli de’ Lapi,” a
K 3

202

EAMBLES IN GERMANY

burning love of country, joined to a piety at war
with the grosser superstitions of Rome, adorns his
venerable hero. The Tuscans generally do not like
his style, and prid’cr that of Grossi. Tommaso
Gross! is the intimate friend of Manzoni, to whom
he dedicated his popular romance of “ Marco
Visconti,'’ calling him by the endearing name of
“ Master.” He commenced his literary career by
the ))ul)lieation of two beautiful talcs in verse,
“ Ildegouda,” and the "Fuggitiva;” in this species
of composition there is no one to compare with
him, and “Ildegouda,” in the estimation of his
countiyTOcn, is quite inimitable. A Florentine,
GuciTazzi, has published two romances, “L’Asscdio
di Firenze,” and “La Battaglia di Benevento,”
popular in his own countiy, from the ardent, the
almost frantic love of hberty which inspires their
author. This is a spuit that ever finds a clear
echo in hearts palpitating with the sense of wrong,
and with the aspiration to independence. He is
eloquent and passionate in his stjdc, and has happy
touches of situation and character which show him
to be a mqn of genius—but he is diflusc, exag¬
gerated, aud^metimes incoherent.

A greater man than these, and in the eyes of
his countrj'men, equal to Manzoni, is the Florentine,
Gian. Battista Niccolini. This poet, it is true, is

AND ITALY.

203

not as celebrated as the author of the “I’romessi
Sposi” on this side t>f the Aljjs, but in Italy he has
attained an equal, and indeed, in some respects,*
a higher reputation. Niccolini is a tragic and lyric
poet, and a great prose writer. He commenced his
career, as a dramatist, by tragedies on .Greek and
mythological subjects. His mind full of the verses
of Dante, Tasso, and Ariosto, he reproduced on
the stage, garbed in simple and sublime poetry,
the theatre of the Greeks. His “Polixena”—his “ Ino
e Teraisto,” and his “ Qidipus,^’ might be said to
be written on the model set by Alfieri, and equally
liberal in sentiment. They w'cre acted, and the
beauty of the verses insured their success. Nicco-
liui soon, however, became aware that his works
did not meet the wants of modern ^icty, and that
he ought no longer to remain in the xvays trodden
by his mastcra; but that the time had arrived when
to cease imitating the ancients. . He resolved to
seek the reputation of an original poet, and to create
a new theatre. The “ Foscarini,” a national subject,
in which he paints, in the Uvelicst and blackest
coloiu-s, the dark tyranny of the Venetian aristo¬
cracy, had a success on the stage previously unexam¬
pled in Italy. The enthusiasm spread among every
rank of society; country people, farmers and
labourers from the environs of Florence, were seen

204

llAMBLKS IN GERMANY

mingled •with the lower elasa of citizens, besieg¬
ing the avenues of the theatre for hours before
the opening of the doors. Animated by this success,
Niccolini composed the “ Sicilian Vespers,” which is,
in fact, a protest in favour of Italy.* Tins drama
was received with transports of enthusiasm. The
French Secretary of Legation, M. de la None, had
tile folly to complain to the Tuscan government
of (tertain expressions levelled again.st the French
nation. The Austrian Minister laughed at his
apjilication, and saw through the ai-tificc. “ Vans ne
vmjcz pas,” he said, “ que si Paddresse est d vans,
le contenu est pour moi." An interesting and
sad incident occurred on the first representation
of this play. Tlie mother of Niccolini, an aged
woman, insist^ on being present—the immense
success and triumph of her son were too much
for her—she was carried dying out of the theatre,
and only survived two days.

The style of Niccolini’s tragedies is looked
u])on by his countrymen as a perfect model for
the romantic drama. It is elevated and yet natural.
The poet rises to the height of his argument; his
versification is harmonious yet severe—his imagery
rich and choice; his tone is majestic, and through

• In Uie same manner liis tragedy, lately publUlied, ^ Arnaldo da
Brescia^* ie a splendid protest against the tcmpoial dominion of tUe
]*0{>c and the abuse of the power of the church.

AND ITALY.

205

all there glows an ineffable love of his art. Niccolini
is celebrated also as a lyric poet; but as far as 1 have
read, he falls very short of Manzoui. As a prose
writer he has as yet only published his speeches
delivered in the Aceadeniia delle belle Arti. They
justify his reputation for research, and, may be
pointed out as models of style and eloquence; In;
proves himself in thcni to be an original thinker,
and capable of understanding and judging the age
in which he lives.

Niccolini joins to his intellertnal greatness a cha¬
racter that makes him the darling of his native city.
Devoid of vanity, of pure and exemplary life, he
passes his days at Florence, surrounded’by friends
who resjiect and love him. lie is at present busily
occni)ied by an arduous work, the “ Ilistoiy of the
House of Swabia.”

Italy, from the earliest times, has In^en renowned
for its historians. From Dino Coinpagni and Vil-
lani until Botta, Colletta, and Amari, the Italians
appear to inherit the art of naiTating events, and
describing men and countries, as well as of deducing
philosophical conclusions from the experience of past
ages.

Colletta’s “ History of the Kingdom of Naples,
from the year 1734 till the year 1825,” is a
remarkable work, as not being the production of an

206 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

author who spent his life among hooks, but of a
man who bore a distinguished part in tlie political
and military affairs of his time, and who was
somewhat advanced in years when, exiled from his
country, he dedicated himself to the study of his
native language and the composition of his history.

The tii'st publications of Colletta consisted of a
“Narrative of the llcvolution of Najdcs in 1820,”
and the “History of the Death of Murat.” The
vigour of his style, the truth that reigned in his
nai-rative, and the warmth of enthusiasm that
animated his pen, attracted attention, and received
applause. To a certain degree an adherent of the
French lode in Naples, though fully aware of its
faults and its injustice, he, in the account of the
death of Murat, undertook, with just indignation,
to defend the illustrious partisans of the fallen
sovereign, whom the minister, IMedici, falsely
aecused of having ensnared and betrayed him;
throwing the blame where it was due, on the rash¬
ness of the victim and the baseness of his enemies.
This narration is incorporated in his history, and
forms one of its most striking passages. It seems
to me one of the finest pieces of writing in the
world—full of a mournful dignity, that renders its
pathos touching, and gives grandeur to its scorn.

A few pages are prefixed to his histoiy, written.

AND ITALY.

307

1 believe, by bis friend Count Gino Capponi, which
gives an account of his life. While yet a mere
boy, he was imprisoned by Ferdinand on a slight'
suspicion of liberalism, and with difficulty escaped
with his life. He, though his name is omitted by
French writers, accompanied the soldiers^ of Murat
in their attack upon Capri, and by his‘gallantry
and sagacity mainly contributed to its success.
Many important posts, both civil and mihtai’y, were
entrusted to him by Murat, and, on his return,
by Ferdinand, and he acquitted himself in all with
reputation, lie acted at once a prudent, hrm, and
patriotic ])art, dmang the* l'\eapolitan revolution
But though Ferdinand employed, frequently con¬
sulted, and often followed his advice, this did not
save him after the Austrian invasion. He was

first imprisoned at Briinn, in Moravia, at the foot
of the Castle of Spiclburg, of infamous renown;
afterwards, as his health failed, he was allowed to
transfer himself to Tuscany. During his severer
imprisonment and milder exile, ever ambitious of a
noble fame, he meditated his future work. First,
he apphed himself to the study of his native
tongue, forming his style on that of Tacitus; and
then,. armed with the strength of pictorial and
vigorous language, he dedicated himself to the
compilation of his history.

208 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

An eye witness of many of the events whieh
he narrates, and frequently a prominent actor in
them, he strives to be impartial both to friends and
enemies. He has not, however, escaped the blame
of undue bias. He expresses his opinions at times
with too ipuch passion, displaying excessive severity
against his rivals or opponents in his military career.
This, however, is not much; and, with very slight
drawbacks, he may be esteemed worthy of the reader’s
confidence. He knew the men whose character he
draws, and these individual portraits give value to
the work they eontribute to adorn. Among them
may be named, in especial, that of the infamous
Canosa, and the youthful hero, Emanuel de Deo.
Even more admirable are his striking descriptions,
after the manner of Tacitus. If you shrink from
undcitaking the whole work, read the accounts of
the earthquake in Calabria in 1783—of the exe¬
cutions of 1799—of the death of the unfortunate
Murat—of the tragical fate of the Vardarelli—and
the character of the reign of Ferdinand, at the con¬
clusion. It will be difficult to find finer ])assages in
any history.

He came to Florence in 1823, and died on 11th
November, 1831. The intcnal was spent in com¬
posing his work, and rendered happy by his
intimate friendship with two Italians, esteemed as

AND ITALY.

209

the cleverest men of their time. Count Gino
Capponi and Valeriani, translator of Tacitus.
These friends assisted him with their counsels and
criticisms—some Italians go so far as to consider
Gino Capponi the writer of the history. Hut
others, who associated with Collctta and his friends
at Florenee, hav»! assured me that this supposition
is entirely (irroneous.

Quite lately, another historical work has aj)-
peared, the ])roduction of a young Sicilian, Michele
Amari, w'ho ]n’oraiscs, from his talents, his industry,
and the admirable spirit of his hook, to add another
illustrious name to Italy.

The Sicilian Vespers was a tremendous event,
which astonished and eonfoundial the nations, and
even in Italy was ill understood by contemporary
historians. It was supposed to he the result of a
consjihacy formed by Giovanni da Procida, under
the auspices of Don Pedro, King of Arragon,
who reaped the fruits. Amari, on consulting the
archives of Sicily, found reason at first to susj)ect
the truth of, and afterwards entirely to reject, this
explanation of an event, which, in this light, could
only be regarded as a cruel massacre—but which,
from the documents he adduce.s, he proves to have
resulted, not from a treacherous consjnracy, but
from the sudden impulse of a people maltreated

210

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

and insulted to desperation; whose only defence
was the knife, whose only safety rested in utterly
rooting out their oppressors.

Fired with generous sympathy for a people who,
against a fearful odds, resolved to liberate themselves
from a b-arharous foreign oppression, Amari relates
the events of the war that followed the massacre
with glowing eloquence. The history of the siege
of Messina may take place beside the noble resistance
of Numantia and Saragossa, with the more cheering
result that it was successful. This portion of his
work, and the subsequent chapters that describe
the last war and death of Don Pedro of irragon,
are admirably written. You will scarcely find in
any historian a more animated and graphic narration
than that which tells how Don Pedro, deserted by
all, hated by all, proudly and sternly, and at last
successfully, stood his ground against his numerous
and triumphant foes.

It is the work of a young man, and of a Sicilian,
who had to learn and form the language in which
he writes. The style wants elegance; the construc¬
tion of the liistoi-y is imperfect, and, at times,
rambling; but it has the first and best merit of
a work of genius—^it is written from the heart.
The enthusiasm of the author carries the reader
along with him; you forget the imperfections in

AND ITALY.

211

the justness of his retleetions, and the sincerity of his
convictions; you excuse the absence of methodical
order as you arc carried away by the interest which
he throws over the facts he narrates.*

* This work was first published at Palermo ahoiit two yeats ago,
under the title of “ Un Periodo dclle Istoric Sicilianedel iJijolo 13““.”
The manuscript was of course Quilted to the censor of the press,
who permitted its publication. It acquired universal reputation, and
was cnthusiasticall}' received in the kingdoiii of Naples. As soou as
public attention was excited, the police of that state grew suspicious
and fearful. The book was juulnbited, the rcmaiidng copies were
sequestrated, ami all notire of it in newsppers and iieriodical works,
which hod already begun Ui praise the authoi and give an account
of his book, was forbidden. The jicrsccmtiun did nut cease here;
influenced by some sinister, and, as ss supposed, jicrsonai motive,
Del Carretto, director or minister of the police, gave ordcis that
Amari should be dismissed from an employment ho held in a
government uflicc, and sent to Naples. Signor Amari was warned
in time, and convinced that a lung and severe im|irisonmont awaited
him at the capital, be preferred going into voluntary c.xilu from his
country, to falling into the hands of a cruel enemy. Signor Amari
is at present living in Palis, where he jtublisliod, about a ycai' ago,
a second edition of his work, under the amended title of “ Guerra
del Vespio Siciliano,” with currcctions and additions. lie is at present
occupied in collecting materials for the compilation of a history of
Sicily, from the occuimtiou of the Saracens; for which, as he must
consult Arabic documents, he is studying with unwearied ardour;
he thus adds another proof that the Italians of the present day are
capable of severe applieatiun and learned r^carch, in addition to the
frequent gift of remarkable talents.—1844.

212

RAMBLES 1\ GERMANY

LETTEB XVII.

Voyage to Rome.

March 20.

I LEFT England, as you know, with very vague
ideas of whither I should go. J did not dare enter¬
tain a hope that I should visit Rome. But,

Tliodght by thought, and step by Btep led on/'

We Lave reached what Dr. Johnson says is the
aim of every man’s desire.

My companions dreaded a long veturim journey,
whose leisure is a false lure, since you always arrive
too late, and set out too early, to see anything
in the towns where you stop. I consented to go
by sea, and Heaven rewarded the act of self-sacrifice.

We left Florence at twelve at night, in one of
the most uncoiufaktable veturim carriages I ever
had the ill fortune to enter. The moon was near
its full, and its bright snow-like glare almost
blinded my friends, who rode outside, and prevented
them from sleeping. The morning dawned golden
and still; and, although it was Mai’ch, we anti-

ANJ) ITALY.

213

cipatcd a calm voyage. So it proved. We embarked
on board the “ Castor,” a small, but well-built and
quick steamer, and drojqied down towards Elba.
Tin; view from the sea near Leghorn is not suffici¬
ently praised. The Ligurian Alps

** Towanls llio Nortli appearetT,,

Thro' mist, a heuvon : SMStainiiig bahvuikf reared
Rctnccn tlic east and wcbt.”

Tlie sun went down beneath the sea, and the full
moon rose at the same moment from behind the
promontory of Piombino—hay.y at first,—but as she
rose higher, assuming her plac- as radiant Queen
of Night. We passed between tlic island of Elba,
whose dark and distinct outline rose out of the calm
water, and the sliadowy form of distant Corsica; as
wc proceeded, other and other islands appeared
studding th<! tranquil deep, and varying its sublime
monotony. It was very difficult to consent to shut
one’s eyes on so very fair a scene.

At sunrise wc were on deck again, and the steamer,
with that sort of pride, which a boat always seems to
exhibit when it reaches its l^rnc, entered the
harbour of Civita Vccehia. Wc were detained for
pratique till eight o’clock, when the Governor got
up, and for three hours we had full leisure to con¬
template the growth of the morning on the sea, and
to feci tired of conjectm’cs about the towers and

214 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

buildings on shore. As soon as we landed, and had
breakfasted, and were refreshed, wc set off in a sepa¬
rate diligence for the Eternal City.

The road for some miles bordered the sea. The
shore is varied by little bays, inlets, and promon¬
tories-—every five miles is a watch-tower,—^thc Ma-
remma is spread around, deadly in its influence on
man, but in ap^arance, a wild, verdant, varied
pasture land, with here and there a giwe of trees,
and broken into hill and dale : the waves sparkled
on our right; the land stretched out pleasant to
the eye on the left; mountains showed themselves
on the horizon. No one can look on this country
as merely so much earth—every clod is a sacred
relic—every stone is an object of curiosity—every
name we hear satisfies some desire or awakens some
cherished association. And thus, in a sort of trance
of delight, we were whirled along, till the old walls
appeared. We entered by the Janiculum, and
skirted the Place of St. Peter’s; then the pleasant
spell was snapped, as we had to tum our thoughts to
custom-houses, h^ls, and all the worry of arrival.

Evening advanced; but what ailed the Romans ?
they were all looking up at the sky—it was an epi¬
demic—in crowds or singly, not an eye looked
straightforward; all were looking at the heavens;—
at a tum in the street we looked too, and saw in the

AND ITALY.

215

south a long trail of glowing light; we were the
more surprised, as we had perceived nothmg of the
sort the previous night at sea. It was a comet, of
course;—docs it shine in your more northern hemi¬
sphere? here, it loses itself among the stars of
Orion, while the nucleus is below the viable hori-
zon;—it is bright, yet the stars shine through its
web-like texture, which, composed of thin beams, is
stretched out, and you may see delicate sea-weeds—
or aipiatic plants in a stream, through a large space
of the heavens.

21G

llAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER XVJII.

Usiffui-lle at Rome.

April 5.

The multitude of pictures and statues at Home is
such, that it is (juite impossible to give the most
cursory account of the, Galleries. I havt; hceu more
struck even than 1 expected, by what I have seen ;
the limits*of man’s power appear enlarged to the
uttermost verge of all that the imagination can
conceive of beautiful and great.

'fhe admirable proportion of the templc-likc
chambers in which the finest relics of ancient
statuary are placed—the snatehes of views that you
cateh, from 0 ])cn windows, of the papal gardens and
the country around the city, renders a visit to the
Vatican a step out of every-day life into a world
adorned by the works of the highest genius of all
countries and all times. It is a great pity that they
are not arranged in a manner to instruet the
spectator as to the age and schools to which they
belong—the collection at the Vatican greatly needs

AND ITALY.

217

to be regulated by enligbtcncd criticism—but here,
everytliiiig is done from paltiy motives: a man,
who in some way can command jiatronagc, writes t
catalogue of all the statues, and clianges their
numbers and places, to make it necessary that you
should buy bis book ; so that tliose wjjo go with
the 1 ‘luborate and learned works of ticrinan critics
in their bauds, find every rei'ereuee a mistake, and
get hoj'elessly embroiled.

It is said tliat all the works of ancient (ireciau
sculpture bear the. character of divine rejiose ; and
that those .statues which are in altitudes of action,
arc tile works of (Jreeks, indeeil, but e.'.ecutcd when
(irecee was a province, at the conunand of Koman
nia'-ters. Among such, is the Ajtollo Uelvidere,
which is not adorned by the faultless jterfection
of Athenian art—yet who can eritieise 1 .As I
entered the compartment in which lie stands, a
divine jtresence seemed to fill the chamber. The
goillike archer is stepping forward ; his gesture and
look breathe the eagiuTiess and gladness of victory.
In some soil, this statue is the ideal ol’ a youthful
hero—but he is not human—there is no trace of
the chivalrous feeling, that e\en in triumph honours
the fallen, lie is above fear and above pity.

From room to room the eye is so fed by sights of
beauty, “ that the sense aches at them : ” truly the

VOL. II. L

21S RAMBLES IN OERSIANY

liinb.s iinivilliiigly fiiil. From the hulls of the statues
you go thniiigh long galleries lilled Mith funereal
unis, ancient iinijis, anil old taiiestry worked from
llafraellc.’s cartoons, into rooms where, the jiaiutings
arc. It is managed so, that when you have passed
through all, you ipiit the rooms hy the loggie of
Uafraclle, and the Swiss on guard does not permit
you to vctuni;—there is no great harm in this—as
it would he nearly im])ossihle to walk the whole way
hack again. t’isitors ought, nevertheless, to he
allowed to enter hy this door at choice, that they
may at once reach the. iiiclnves williout the extra
lahonr of traversing the I'xtensive galleries that lead
to them. Of the oil jiaintings we sec here, the
San (ieroniino hy Oomenichino is perha])s the tincst.
Of the 'I’ranstiguration I have heforc sjioki.-n : as a
composition, it is esteemed the grandest jiieturc
in the world; but I turn from it to others (to
the Madonna di Foligno, for instance) of an earlier
date, in nhich there is a more heavenly grace;
an expression of celestial and jmre beauty, an
emanation of the immortal soul, superior to any
perfect ion oi' colouring or gronjiing.

Hut it is among the frescos of Rafraellc that I
have lingered longest with the greatest delight.
These were the first n orks of this matchless painter,
when called to Rome, lie had been soliciting leave

AND ITALY. '219

to be associated with Leonardo da Vinci and Michael
Angelo in painting the halls of the Palazzo Vccchio,^
at Florence, when Pope Julius II. called him to
Home, and gave him in charge to adorn the walls
of th(; Vatie.aii.

At tliis time iVliehael Angelo was, I will not say,
his rival; hut, as he jiaiuted the Sistine Chapttl
while Haffaelle was engaged upon the Vatican, a
passiti'i of geiier ms emulaiion rose in the heart of
the latter that sjiurred him on to work with inde¬
fatigable ardour. ;Vs Lanzi tells us, the subjects
chosen for these halls el. vati'd his imagination.
They were not scenes from old mythology, “ but
the mysteries of the noblest science — the ntost
angn.st cireiimstaiiees }>ertaiiiiiig to religion, and
military dei-cl.s whose result e.stablished ])eaee. and
faith in the world.” None bitter than HaiTaelle
could achieve this ivork; for of all men he had
firmest hold of “that goldi.'ii chain whiidi is let
down from Heaven, asid with a divine enthu.siasm
ravishes our souls, made to the image of Hod, and
stirs us up to com[)reliend the innate and incor-
rujjtible beauty to which we were once created.”*

He began by the figures of Theology, Philosophy,
Poetry, and Jurisprudence, on the arched roof of
oue of the rooms. The figures of Theology and

* Plato's lou. .Shelley’s Essays.

2

1.

220

llA.VIliLKS IX fii;a.MA\V

I’octry, particularly tlic lallcr^ arc in the highest
style of mystic art. Tlii^ ]>icturc. named the
Dispute of the Sacrament—if that he tlic name of
a jiic.turc wliich is, after all, nameless—covers one of
the walls. Tlicrc is an asscmhlagir of all the doctors
ot the elivreli. and among them liatfaelle boldly
placed Dante, with his laurel crown, and, .still more
boldly, Savanarola, who ten yiiars hefori^ had been
publicly hurjied at Flonmee as a heretic.* .\hove
the.se grou|)s, heaven opens, and the Trinity and
the Angels are congregated. Hy the lovers of tlie
luystie school, this picture is jireferred to every
other; yet J was more struck hy that which
n pre.sents the \ isioii driving lleliodorus from
the Teni))le. The story, as told in the Apoervpha,t
IS fitted to e\eiti‘ the imagination. Through the
relation of Simon, Seleneus sent lleliodorus, his
treasurer, to si’ize on the wealth of the Temple,
laid u]) hy Onias, the Iligli I’riest, for the relief
ol widens and fatherless ehildren. When Helio-
dorus entered the Temjile to execute the king’s
eoimnand, “ there was no small agonv throughout
the whole I'ily. IIkui. nhoso looked tlic high priest
in the faei-, it would have wounded his heart; for
liis countenance, and the changing of his colour,
i!i dared the inward agony of his mind.” The

• M. K;o.

f Atwcal.cc!?, ii. 3.

AND ITALY.

whole city ilockctl, transported by indignation and
grief. “ And all, holding up their hands to heaven,,
made sup])licatiou.” lleliodorus, nevertlu;less, per¬
sisted ; but when he presented himself at the
treasury, “the Ijord of Spirits, and the J’ririee of
all power, caused a great apjiarition, *s*) that all
that j)rcsiuned to eonie. in with him wau'e astonished
at the power of (Jod, and fainted, and were sorit
afraid.”

Jt is deemed the triumph of art to adorn llie
real with .something grander than meets the, ordi¬
nary gaze; hut to jtaint* the sujierhuman, and
convey to the eyes the image of that which
surpasses the might of visible ohjcicts, and can
seare(.'ly be conceived by the strongest effort of
the. imagination, is that which Itaffaelle only eoidd
aehhwe. In this fresco the vision of a “ hor.se
with a terrible rider ” fills the beholder with awa—
the one shakes tesrror from his looks, while the
horse may be seen to neigh and breathe destruc¬
tion around. The ligures of the, two youths,
“notable in strength, and excellent in beauty,”
who are driving the spoiler with scourges from
the Temple, are divine in sw'iftness and might.
Celestial indignation animates their gestures, and
motion was never painted so real, so impetuous,
so uncontrollable.

222 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

This was among the latter works of Raffaelle.
Whether it be, as ]\I. llio ai'gues, tliat falling from
that high devotional state of mind which inspired
his younger works, he could no longer rise to ideal
perfection, or that the remains of antique art at
Rome, and'the sinqde and majestic pencil of iMichac;!
Angelo, in the Sistine Chapel, giving larger scope
to his ideas of composition, he began a new style,
and the powers of man being limited, tin; attaining
something new, however excellent, occasioned him to
lose a portion of that which he before^ ]>()ssessed ;
there can be no doubt that his manner entirely
changed. I am not always disposed to regret this
alteration. It lias been the cause of a variety in
excellence; for if we miss in his latter pictures the
portraiture of innocence, and divine love, repre¬
sented in the Madonnas and saints of his first style,
we have something else, which no one but Raffaelle
could give. To understand me, let me ask you to
call to mind the Madonna di Foligno in the
Vatican, and the Descent from the Cross in the
Palazzo Borghese. The first beams, with au adorable
and beatified sweetness, all purity and love. In the
second, do j'oii remember, besides the many other
pity-striking figures, the St. John? He is holding
one end of the cloth which enfolds his dead mas¬
ter’s body. The expression of agony proper to the

AND ITALY.

223

beloved diseiplc, stniggles with the exertion of
strength neecssitated by the aet on wliich lie is,
employed; the resolution to jierform the rites due
to the dead, is mingled with yearning veneration for
the eorpse of him whom he jiassionately adored.
These pictures arc the triumph of Christian art.
Then rceollect the frescos of the history of Psyche
in the Farncsiiia, and the youthful and uyn)])h-Iikc
loveliness of the dalatea—th(;s(' arc sjieeiniens of
his last style—and form your own opinion as to
his improvement or otherwise. Wliiebever way you
incline, there is one c<*iiclusiou to whieli you
must ncces.sarily come, that llatraellc in both styles,
the Christian and the Pagan, is su|)erior to every
other painter— “ high actions and high passions
h<\st describing.”

Day after day, often accompanied by our accom¬
plished friend, whose taste and knowledge, are
invaluable, w'e visit the galleries of Rome. In one
small chamber of the Barberini jialace arc three gems
of art; and in the.sc!, expression ajipeared trium¬
phant over skill, to the disadvantage of Ralfaelle.
A portrait of the Fornarina is contrasted with that
of Beatrice Cenci, by Guido. In vain I was told to
compare the exqui.sitc finish, the faultless painting
of check and lip, of the disagreeable-looking beauty,
with the comparatively imperfect touches of Guido’s

KAMBLES IN OERBUNY

OO.l
1 '

])f‘iicil. Tli<! iiiiiocciit, tearful face of tlie young and
lovely girl, wlioso look expresses the self-pity which
must have swelled in her heart, as she thouglvt, how
she, from \eiT horror of crime, was become a imir-
deress, ])ut to sliame the dark eyes and pencilled
brows oi' lit'i’, M iiose passion was devoid of tender¬
ness. It is gratifying to sec the work of an English
painter in a Homan clmreli. ITie pictiire by i\Ir.
Severn in the Cathedral of San Paolo fuore delle
Mura, is a beautiful composition, and shews to great
advantage. It is the. first work of a Protestant
artist admitted into a ICmian cliiireh. Tln^ high
esh'em in whieli Mr. Severn was held in Home
ensured Ihm tliis distinction.

I have vi>it('d with great pleasure tlie studios of
modern stat naries. They are mo.stly now employed in
portraying or idealizing a Capuan peasant-woman,
la (Jrazia, whose beauty is of an expressive, mobile,
and grand east. The best rei)reseutation of her is
as llagar in the desert.

The ang('lof the day of judgment, by Tencraiii, is
very fine; and ^Ir. Gibson’s studio contains statues
admirably ('xecuted in that classic taste which he so
successfully cultivates.

ANJ) ITALY.

LETTER XIX.

Uuiii .1 of Rome.—The Holy Week.—Music and illuinluntioiiK.

Tiiimta dk’ Mo.nti, AI'KIL.

‘‘W’liAT uro tLt; ploasures that 1 ciijity at Roiik;!'”
you ask. They arc so many, that my mind is
hrimful of a sort of glovvi^ig .satisfaction, mingled
with tearful associations. Ihisidcs all that Rome
itself affords of delightfid to the eye and imagina¬
tion, 1 revisit it as the bourne of a jiious jiiigrimage.
The treasures of my youth lie; buried here.

The sky is bright—the air impregnated with the
soft odours of spring—we take our books and wile
away the morning among the ruins of the Raths
of Caracalla, or the Coliseum. From the shiittered
walls of the former, the vicnv over the city and tlu^
Campagna is very beautiful. The I’alatine is mar
at hand, and majestic ruins guide th<' eye to where
the golden palace spreads its vast extent. These
ruins, chiefly piles of brick—^remnants of massive
walls or lofty archways—may not be beautiful in
themselves j but overgrown with parasites and
l3

226

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

flowering shrubs, they arc grouped in so picturesque
a manner among broken ground and dark gigantic
trees—the many tovvexs of the city gatlicriiig near—
the distant hills on tlie clear horizon, with clouds
just resting in scattered clusters on the tojis, and
the sky above, deejdy blue—that the. whole scene
is delightful U>j!r/, as well as look at.

There is one view from the Coliseum that I am
never tired of contemplating. Ascending to the
second range of arches, and looking from tin: verge
towards tin; tomb of Ce.stius—in the foreground
is the Temple of Venus, the. I’alatine Mount, and
the ruins of the Forum—the country, varied by
woods and hills and ruins, is spread beyond—the
tomb of Cestius, gleaming at a distance, is a resting-
place for the eye—and various trees seem placed
expressly to give the scene the air of a landscape
sitting for its picture—all grace and smiles and
radiance.

Tlie Forum used to b(% long, long ago, before 1
ever saw it, a broken sjjace of gi-ound, wdth an
avenue through the Canqio Vacino leading to the
Coliseum, with triinnjdial arches and tall columns
half-buried in the; soil. Now Ahe excavations arc
considerable. I have heard painters lament that the
picturesque beauty has been spoilt; but as its appear¬
ance, such as time and neglect had left it, is changed.

AND ITALY.

it is as well to complete the task of excavation.
Much has been done since 1 was here last, and
workmen are in constant employ. 1 wish you could
see the chief among them. Imagine an Indian
file of fifty old men in the last stage of decrepitude,
grey-headed, hent-shouldered, and fciWc-legged,
each rolling a small wheelbarrow, crce[)ing along so
slow, and yet that extreme slowness apja-ariug an
exertion for them.

From the Foi-iun we ascended the lull of the
Capitol, and, with some troulile, got the custode,
and mounted the tower of the Cam]>idogho.
We looked round, and fancied how, from this
height, the patricians and consuls of Old Home
watched the advance of marauding parties that
wound out from the raxincs of the hill.s, or whose
spears and helmets glittered above the brow of the
Jauicular hill; and the ery of the Sabines, or fiercer
and more terrible, of the; Cauls, made the populace
gather in the Forum below, and give their names
to be inscribed as soldiers for instant fight. The
Tiber glitters in the tlistanec, and Soracte rising
from out the plain,

** Heaves like a lonj;.swept wave, about to break,

And on the curl hangs pausing.’**

I never look at the ridge of Sanf Oreste, (as it

* Childe Harold, Canto IV.

22S

RAMBXES IN GERMANY

is now called,) but these lines, which so admirably
jiaint it, come into my mind.

I scarcely know what ^■iew of Home to prefer.
1’hat Iron! the ruined llaths of Cariicalla, or from
the verirc of the Coliseum, or the panorama of
tbe (^iipilol, (»!' from the ])orch of the Latenm, which
eommanils a different landscape.—You see nothin" of
the city, for your back is turned on it; you arc on
ii hei/ilil, the Campagim iit your feet, sj)anned by a
uumlu.'i- of ruined aqueducts, whose grandeur and
extent impress the mind, more than any other
olqeet, uilh a sense of liomaii greatness, rroni the
Jjaterau doun to the Coliseum, nearly a mile, and
in the adjoining space, was the most inagnilieent
quarter of the old city. Now it is occupied by
I'oderi, divided by high walls, with here and there
a ruin—iv to|i|>ling wall or broken arch. When
I’ope Gregory VII. called in Ilobert Guiscard to
drive 1 hairy III. from his capital, the Saracens of
Sicily, under the command of the Norman, sacked
Itoini', iind this portion of the city was burned and
levelled with the. soil. So utter was the desolation,
that the survivors foiuid it more convenient to build
nearly a new town at a distance, than to attempt
to restore their homes among the smoking ruins of
pidaces, teinjiles, and baths, which lay a black heap,
till they crumbled away—and trees and flowers

AND ITALY. 2^9

sprung up, fiiid the pleasantry came with the jilougli,
and sowed seed aiid reaiied corn.

We spent half a day rambling over the J’iilatine- -
the Contadiiio, our guide, told us that every .Inly
aJid August, the nial’ aria reigned, and his sunken
eheeks s[)oIce of his having been a vietini. lie
asked us if we had liie inal’ aria in Knglaiid.—
“Che bel ]iacse,” he said with a sigh on hearing
our negativi'.

Often, as at Venice, we leave our home without
any definite object, and wander about the deserted
part of Jionie—that which miee was the centre of
its niagnificenec. 1'hus we vimied the Church of
Santa Maria degli Angeli, built by Michael Angelo,
w'ith materials, eohnnns and marbles, remnants of
the Maths of Diocletian; it is one of the most
striking and majestic of the lloniau ehurehes. Thus
we found ourselves at the, foot of the Ca])ilol, and an
inscription led us to visit the .Mainertine prisons,
a spot held sacred since St. I‘efer and other Chris¬
tian martyrs were, conliiied thei'e. It is indubitably
the oldest relic of the ancient republic, and the
monument of its cruel and arrogant disdain for
human life and sulFering, impresses one painfully.
How much of that has there ever been all over
the world—and now! I used to jiride myself on
English humanity; but the boast is quenched in

23d

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

shame, since I read, last winter, the accounts of the
cruelties praetis(;d in the Affglmii ivar. We were
injured, and, thci-<-fore, we rcveujre; sueh also was
the t(!uct of old Koine.

The galleries of the Capitol often entice us. Here
arc some ef the finest statues in the w^orld. The
Amazon, in whom a severe and martial expression
is allied to feminine grace, and a something womanly
softens the. countenance in spite of stcniiiess. The
Venus of the Capitol is the only Queen of Heauty
that can at all eomjiele with the Goddess of the
Tribune. The Cujiid and I’syehe is less tender and
innocent than the Tloienliue group, but there is a
passionate love in tlic caress that makes the marble
appear tremidous with emotion.

A mil, 20.

Holy Week is over. The ceremonies of the
Church strike me as less majestic than when J was
last here; perhaps this is to be attributed to the
chief part being tilled by another actor. I’ius VII.
w'as a venerable and dignified old man. Pope
Gregory, shutting his eyes as he is earned round
St. I’cter’s, beeausi' the motion of the chair makes
him sea-sick, by no means excites respect. If 1
ever revisit Rome during the Holy Week, I shall
not seek for tickets for the ceremonies; it will

AND ITALY. 231

be quite enough to enter the Cathechul for half-an-
hour while they were going on.

But a thousand times over I would go to listen
to the Miserere in the Sistino Chapel j that spot
made sacred by the most sublime works ol’ Michael
Angelo. 1 do not allude to tlni Last JAulgment—
which 1 do not admire—but to the paintings on the
roof, which have that simple grandeur that Michael
Angelo alone could confer on a single ligure, making
it complete in itself—enthroned in niaj(?sty—reign¬
ing over the soids of men.

The music, not only of ^he Miserere, but »)f the
Lamentations, is solemn, patlnd.ic, religious—the
soul is rapt—carried away into another stiite of
being. Strange that grief, and laments, and the
humble petition of repentance, should till us with
delight—a delight that awakens thes(; very emotions
in the heart—and calls t(;ais into tin; eyes, and
yet which is dearer than any jileasnre. it is
one of the mysteries of our nature, that the
feelings which most torture and subdue, yet, if
idealised—tdevated by the imagination—married
harmoniously to sound or colour—turn those pains
to hapjiincss; inspiring adoration; and a tremulous
but ardent aspiration for immortality. Such seems
the sentient link between our heavenly and terres¬
trial nature; and thus, in Paiadisc, as Dante tells.

!i;32 RAMBLES IX CERAIAXY

—glory beatifies the sight, and sera])hie liarmoiiy
wraps the saints in bliss.

Another siglit f)f this weth, is th(i washing of the
feet of fhe pilgrims. The ladies of l{.oiue l)elong
to a sisterhood who ])erforni this sen'iee on Good
Friday for the female pilgrims. Tlie hospital of the
I’elegrini was crow'ded; we eoidd hardly imike onr
way. In my life I never saw so nnieh female beauty
as among the. sisterhood—their faces so ])eiTcet in
contour; so lovely in exjn’ession; so noble, iUid so
soft, that the recollection will haunt my memory
for e\er.

I went to mass at the Church of the Jesuits—as
usual glittering with ornaments, precious stones,
wax-lights, and all manner of finery. The music
was ill the same style—well suited for the Opera-
house ; it would, there ha\ c enchiiiited; but it
wanted that solemn, religious descant, which awed
the sjiirit in the Sistiuc Chapel.

The illumination of St. I’eter’s terminated the
sights of the week—that and the fire-works of the
Castcl Sant’ Angelo.—There is more of creation in
the first of these sights than in any other in the
world. It is but a dim, and scant, and human
imitation of the third verse of the fii'st chapter of
Genesis ; but it is an imitation of the most sublime
act of dime power; and though bearing but a

AND ITALY,

233

vi'i'y weak reseiiiblaiice to wliat wo imagine ot' tlic
moiiKuit wlicn, on a nord, liglit disclosed tlie glories
of en^ation, yet, llicre is darkness, and radiance
sudden and dazzling biu'sts forth, and—it is lery
fine.

It is curious to see all these soleiiinitfcs—many
of them doubtless of J’agaii origin—dear to the
]ieo])le, and llierefore preserved and cliristianised by
the J’oj)es—and to rcih^ct, that such, for many, many
centuries, was the chief link fostered In religion
between man and the l)i\inity. W'c have obli¬
terated all this among our''i'hes. \o doubt (he
impulse of |)iety in the heart is a truer and purer
oblation ; but Catholics reason that thirse are aids
and supports t.() enable wc;dc humanity—a creature
half matter, half soul — to suslaiu itself in its
pious eestaeies. Ilesides, God created in us not
only the sense of, but also in some degree the
])ower of creating the beautiful; and is it not well
to dedicatf' to divine worship tlie glorious gifts
which were bestowed for the jnirposc of raising the
son! from earth and linking it to Heaven?

234

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTEll XX.

The Pontifical States.

May 3.

“Wherever the Catliolic religion is establislieil,
I have uniformly observed indolence, with its con¬
comitants, dirt and beggary, to prevail; and the
more Catholic is the place, the more they
abound.” * These are the words of a clever
writer, well acquaiuted with Home, apropos of
Home. It must be added, that wherever the
Catholic religion prevails, great works of chaiity
subsist. During the time of Cathoheism, chari¬
table institutions, as is well known, abounded all
over England—in some few obscure corners such
still survive, where the old may find a peaceful
refuge—^not in crowd(!d reeejrtaclcs, where they
arc looked ou as useless bm’thcns on a heavily-
taxed parish—^but in decent almshousesf, bordering
grassy enclosures, near gardens that supply their
table j peaceful nooks, where the aged may converse
with natui’e, and find the way to the grave soothed

Romo in the Nineteenth Ccntuiy.

AND ITALY.

235

by tliat calm so di^ar to declining years.* Jesus
Qirist so forcibly recoinuieiided the ])oor to all
who professed his religion, that, in common with
all other Christians, every good Catliolic considers
works of charity to be his jiaramonnt duty. One
of the mo.st enliglitened, I’aseal, gave, jf,touching
proof of this, when, on liis de-ath-bed, he only
admitted his jjains to be soothed by carefid nursing,
on condition that two ])an])ers in the same state
should receive the same, attentions in an adjoining
apartment. The poor were to him objects of real
and tender affection.

As eleemosynary charity is an essential portion of
Catholicism, we may exjM^et that it slionld flourish
in the capital of the Catholic woi'ld. There are
many beggars, but thei-e is no absolute want, at
Home. Ileggaiy is a condition, and it becomes a
matter of favour to be allowed tv> beg. Plates of
metal are givcm to such as are permitted, and
fastened to the arm of poor defovnied objects, who
are to be found in every corner of tin; city, asking
alms. Many convents distribute food rcgidarly at
different hours, when all who ask may have.
There is, beside.s, a house of industry, I lujar,
earned on on excellent jiriuciples. There are, to

• The want of coiivcutual chaiitics^ whose funds, on the Kcforin-
ation, were grecdilj’appropriated by the laity, forced (juecD Klizabetk
to iustitttto the Poor-Laws.

23G

RAMilUvS I.\ (WniMA.W

the destruction of tlie savings of the poor, state
lotteries all over Italy. It was considered that tl^is
demoralising gambling ought not to he kept up in
the capital of the hetid of the church; but it was
argued that a love of jnitting in the lottery could
not b<; rooted out, and while T'^ajtles, Tuscany, and
Venice had lotteri(!s, the Homans would send their
money to those states, if they could not be indulged
at horiKo • A Itouian lottery therefore exists, and the
proceeds go to k(;ep nj) a hotise of industry. Here
a number of young ])eo])le arc taught various ti’ades.
Young men arc aj)])'-eutieed, and girls receive
dowries, while the old people have a home that
smoothes their jiassage to the grave. Ilesidcs the.se
conventual aids and government institutions, there
are many conl’ralernities of citizens whose bond of
duty is (harity to the sick and poor. People of
all classes of society belong to them, and meet
on an eipial footing. The. city is dividi'd into
several ipiarters, and the various confraternities
havi! each one assigned to them, which they visit
and relieve.

Several of the jiersons I know remained in Home
during the visitation of the cholera in 1837, and
they still vividly remember the horror of the time.

It was a conviction, a superstition, nourished by
the church, that this fatal epidemic would spare

ANn ITAl-Y.

237

tlic Holy City, and the arf^iinicnts nrp;ccl to prove
its ('\('ni])tiou were al)surd, and yet liorrible to hear.
W'iien the jrreat heats of Augnst set in, and a few
eases liepin to lx; mentioned, the sovennnent, jrrowii
frantie thronjrh min^ded terror and lolly, thought
only ol' eonvineing the jieople tliat iionie.wonid l)e
sjiared. I’lie jx'st might he said to have been wi‘1-
eoined hy illuminations and ])roressions, and its
\inilenee propagated and liM'd hy the poor people
being eiieonraged to go at'oiil harei'ooi, while their
last eoin was drained from them to buy oil for lamps
to burn in the elinrehes. '1 le- steii'h and lieat in
these ediliees heeame of itself pestilential, for the
siiinnier was more sultry even than usual, and the
erowds that tilled tluaii were treinnidons. Groups
of [H'rsons were to be seen in the streets and
ehurehes, standing barefoot before the Madonnas
and crucifixes, exjieeting to see the images ojien
their eyes and shed blood, both of which iniriicles,
it was averred, had taken place. J5nt this absurd
butfooiiery stunk into insignifieanee compared with
the dreadful ideas purjio.sely ]mt into the jx-.ople’s
minds about jioi.son; in the early stage of the
epidemic, several persons fell victims to the frenzy
thus occasioned.

In the middle of August the ino.st sjdendid illu¬
minations had ]>lacc all over Koine,—a thanksgiving

2.l8 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

to God for sparing tlio city. On the 15th, the I’ope
set out in jn’oeession to accompany a famous black
Madonna from the; Church of Santa IVIaria Mag-
giorc to St. I’etcr’s. Thrice lie was stopped by
storms. Pcojile crowded in to join from all the,
towns and villages in a (urcuit of many miles.
The vast concourse, the excitement of thi^ proces¬
sion, and the violent rains to which they were
exposed, barefoot ami barclieaded, tended only to
exasperate the power of the epidemic. On that day
many jiersons dital: the illusion vanished—it was
admitted that the cholera was in Home. Strangers
and nobles He<l, and Ibi' two months the most
fearful scenes had place. The d{>ad-eart went all
night—jicopic fell down in the streets, convulsed
by the frightful spasms of that terrible disease;
J5,(XK) persons (about one in ten of the whole
pojmlation, 150,000) died at Home.

The Hope shut himself up in the Quirinal.
Every one who entered the palace was obliged to
undergo fumigation — a thing abhorrent to the
Romans, who detest every kind of jierfumc. An
imperative* order was issued that the. cardinals, the
heads of government, and various emploj/cs, should
not quit the city—but it was verj' ill obeyed—
government was indeed paralysed, and great fears
were entertained, esj)ccially at first, of the violence

AND ITALY.

239

of tlio iijnorfint. and wretchedly misguided people.

If you were to iniagiiur the devil insane,” wrote
an Englisli goitleman, “ it might give you some
notion of the slate of things, aud they already
talk of sending for some Austrian troops.” As
the e])ideniic jnirsned its course, the pegplc grew
at tirst familiar willi it, and then coweef. Their
state was most hoi’rihle. 1 have heard, from one
who was (in the spot, tliat it was greyly to be
doubted wlicther all who were borne nightly in
the dead-earts to hidi-ons, unhonoured sepulture,
really died of eholera. Tin re was reason to be¬
hove that many AVere vie!inis of a vimlent tyjihus,
brought on by acts of su])erstitioii aud excessive
fear—and, worse slill, tliat numbers died of starva¬
tion. The administrators of government having
for the most part tied or shut themselves up—a
strict cordon being diiovn round the city, and the
neighbourhood struck with ineoneeivable panic—
food grew scarce, and the poor Avretehes who had
spent their last in propitiating Heaven by lamps and
candlc.s, Avithout money aud Avithout succour, died
of want. ,

Yet there was not absent many redeeming
touches in the dark jiicturc of the times. The
regular clergy fullilled their duties unshrinkingly;
and the conduct of the Jesuits was particularly

240

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

adiniiabl(!. Tlu'v visited every corner of tlic cit\,
watcliing by death-beds witli unweai’ied zeal. They
were seen taking;, with j^entle care, babe.s from tlu’
sides of their mothers, who lay dead in the streets,
wrajeping tlnnn tenderly in their black gowns, and
earrying lliein to places appointed for their refuge.
The eonfruternilies also did 7iot desert their jiost.
A Itoiiian told me he was one of three brothers;
they removed their aged father to a safe ])laee, at
a di.stanee from contagion, and remained them¬
selves : they were eni])loy(?d at dilfei-eut quarters
of the city. “ I never felt happier,” said luy
informant; “ our father was in sahdy; we had
no fears i’or ourselves. All day we wen^ busied
among the sick, and when we met in the evening,
it wa.s with light hearts; the employment gave us
something to do and to think about; the dangers
we might be sn])poscd to run, endeared us to each
other. 1 reme.mber now with regred. the sort of
exhilaration with which we met, thanked (lod for
our pix-servatiou, and then again went to our task,
jiot oidy without fear, but with a feeling of
gladness superior to every other hap])iness.” The
few Kugli.sh, also, who remained, displayed un¬
shrinking courage. Lord C-, in particular, a

Catholic nobleman, acted w'ith a heroism that shamed
the Cardinals and heads of the state. He earnestly

AND ITALY.

241

strove to prove how erroneous was the fear of con¬
tagion; the succour he brought, and the example
he displayed, were of the utmost utility, and saved
many, many lives.

Tlie country round Rome, each town and village
within its cordon; was left pretty much^to itself.
No disturbances occurred, and the people showed
themselves much more capable than could have been
supposed, of self-government. One English family
took refuge at Olevano, a small town, some fifteen
miles from Rome. They went thither without the
intention of remaining; they took very httlc money
with them, and eould get nothing from Rome:
the people of this little place showed them a kind¬
ness at once singular and touching. They not only
provided them with provisions, but exerted them¬
selves to please and amuse them. Each day some
little fete was given by the mere country people for
their diversion; so that they seemed, like the per¬
sonages of the Decameron, to have escaped from a
city of the pest, to enjoy the innocent pleasures of
life with the greater zest.

Such is the amiable and courteous disposition of
this people, except when their violent passions urge
them to crimes, which they scarcely look on as
wicked; for they are taught (for heresy, read any
sin against the ordinances of the church)

VOL. II. H

242

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

“ II gran pcccato e I’crcsia ! chc gli altri
Pcaan tncn d’una piunia, c sc ue Tanno
Con un segno di crocc.” ♦

Where men’s wants are few and easily supplied,
where a benignant climate clothes the earth in
abundance, and nature is the indulgent mother
instead ol the stern overseer of our species, men have
leisure, and, if they are idle, they become vicious.
Th(^ air of Home inspires lassitude, and renders
the inhabitants inert. The Homans who live in
the healthy ])arts of the city are all inclined to
grow fat; their language, unidiomatic, and, so to
speak, long-winded in its expressions, is pronounced
with a grace of accent, a slow and melodious
empha.sis, that renders it more agreeable than any
other Italian to the cars of strangers, and is strangely
in hanmony with the dreamy contentment of their
minds. Accustomed to receive and to gain by
foreigners, they arc com'teous, amiable, and ready
to serve; there is among them an air of easy
indolence, which, though it mUitates against our
notions of manly energy, yet is never brutalized into
stupidity. The women are among the most beautiful
of the Italians. You feel as if all lived under a spell;
and so they do; for, troubled and unquiet as is
the rest of the papal dominions, Rome and its

* AmaUo da Breacia.

AND ITADY.

243

immediate neighbourhood remains in a sort of
hazy apathy. The Pope appreeiates highly their ,
passive submission, and does all he ean to ktjp
them from emuiuunieating with the discontented
districts. For this reason he is opposed to the
construction of railroads j that, as he^says, his
revolutionary suhjeels of the East may not corrupt
his obedient children of the West.

To the outward eyi', tlic ])apal government pays
a slight tributes to the incrirased demands of the
times. There is more deccney in the lives of the
clergy; there is more douf for the poor. But it
is not eleemosynary charity that is needed—it is
the spirit of improvement, just laws and an uiiright
administration — none of these e.vist; and even
BCicntitic knowledge, encouraged in other parts
of the peninsula, is forbidden. Meanwhile, pimal
laws are slight, and seldom enforced. There is,
some fifteen miles from the. city, a miserable col¬
lection of huts, in the middle of a tract of country,
the peculiar haunt of inaP aria; it is called Campo
Morto, and is an asylum of the Church. All
criminals, who fear being taken, fly hither. The
spot, consecrated as an asylum, is watched by
soldiers. Tlie fugitive who once enters the fatal
bounds, never dares leave them. Three years
is the extent to which a man can drag out

M 2

244

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

existence in this pestilential atmosphere. So here
the hardened criminal comes to die, in his desire to
escape from death. He is soon struck by fever,
grows Ibcble and emaciated; and at his appointed
hour is gathered to the grave.

The papiJ government is considered the worst
in Italy; and the temporal rule of the Church
is looked upon as the chief source of the nation’s
misfortunes. This is no novel assertion. You
may remember Dante’s apostrophe :—

^ Ahi, Costantin, di qnanto mal fu matre^

Nod la tua ronverbiqQ, ma qnclla dote,

Cbo da te preso i! primo ricco patre.’*

In the middle ages the temporal power of the
Popes urged them on to many acts of unjustifiable
aggression; yet, as the faith of nations in those
days made them strong, the people were, for the
most part, their friends; kings, their enemies—and
often they made the latter tremble on their thrones,
while they showed themselves the protectors of the
fonner. The Popes were then Guelphs, and watched
over civil liberty, till attachment to temporal riches
turned them into Ghibellincs, and led them to
support the pretensions of sovereigns to absolute
power. Savanorola denounced this unholy alhance
as subversive of the purity, and even existence, of
the Church. As faith decayed, and reform grew

AND ITALY.

245

imminent, the compact between the head of a
rehgion that jtrcached equality, and the sovereigns,
who aimed at despotism, was scaled: while as the.
revenues of the Church, so lately swollen by tributes
from all the Christian world, decreased, the pontifl's
clung more tenaciously to the few mill's of terri¬
tory which they claimed as their own.*

Before the first French Revolution, English
travellers denounced the temja'i ul rule of the Pojtes

* “ Alii, la vedetr;

Di jHirpora v vealita; oro, uioiiili,

OoiiniiC t utta 1’ a<;praviii)o ; It* biaiichc
Vebti, doli'/ia del priutici' r..dMlu,

CLc or htaitcl ciclo^ clla perdd nol fango.

IVrd di notni o di blusfumi c ptciia,

K iicUa fruiite suh arimc ; Mislcro,

Aliiy la 8ua vocc % coiisolar gli afflitti
Non 9* ode pill; tutti tuinaccia, c cixa
Con perenui anatciiii all' aluic incorti*
liu-trabili pone ; gl' int'clici,

(jui lo siaui tuttif nel commuu dolorc
Correano ud abbracisami, cla crudelo
Di CrUlo iti iiumc gii lia divihi; t padii
luimica coi dgli, e Ic cousoiU
Dai maritt dibgiungc, c pon la guerra
Fra uaanimi fratclli: c del Vangelo
Inturprete crudcl: 1’ odiu 8* iui|iara
Nel Ubro dell' amor.**

• • » *

— “ il mondo ignora
S' ella pill d’ oro o piii di sangue ha setc.

Percho sail costci dalle profondo
Vi»ccro della terra al Campidoglio?

Fu bclla e grande nelle sue prigioni.*’

NiccoHru ; Arnaldo da Breseia.

246

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

as corrupt and odious; it subsists now as it did
then—only things are worse—partly, because all
that docs not improve must deteriorate; partly,
that the uses and end of government are better
understood, and abuses become more torturing and
intolerable ; and partly, betause the checks and
restraints which time and custom opposed to their
tyranny arc now all s%vc])t away.

The Pope and his jmclates, alone, arc invested
with political, legislative, and administrative autho¬
rity, and constitute the State. From education and
from system they arc rdespotic, and rcjtel every
liberal notion, every social ]>rogrcss. The people
pay and obey: all the offices, all the cmjdoyments,
great and small, arc in the hands of the clergj-.
From the Pope, to the lowest priestly magistrate, all
live on the public revenues, whence springs a system
of clients, w'hich existing principally in Rome, yet
extends over the whole of the j)apal dominions, and
creates a crowd of dependants devoted to the clergy.
Corruption is the mainspring of the State, which
rests on the cupidity which the absence of all
incentive to, or comi)cnsation for, honest labour
inspires: yet nearly all arc poor, and poorest is the
Head of the whole; who, shrinking from all improve¬
ment, fearful if the closed valves were opened, he
should admit in one rushing stream, with industry

AND ITALY.

247

and knowledge, rebellion, yet finds that the fresh
burthens which his necessities cause him to impose
on the people fail to increase his revenue.

The Romans, themselves, submit without repining,
their state has existed, such as it is, for centuries;
the abode of the Pope and concourse of strangers
enrich — the Church ceremonies amuse them.
But out of Rome the cry has been loud, and will be
repeated again and again. The HI arches bordering
the Adriatic, Romagna and tlic four legations, (foiw
cities, each governed by a Cardinal legate), suffer
evils comparatively new to them; and the memory
of better days incites them to endeavour to recover
tbeir former independence. These states formed, it
is true, ajiortioii of the pontifical dominions before
the French revolution ; but they existed then on a
different footing, and enjoyed jirivilegcs of which
they are now deprived. Bologna in especial con¬
siders herself aggrieved.

During the reign of Pope Nicholas V., driven
by the political necessities of the times, Bologna
placed itself under the protection of the papal
government. The city engaged to pay an annual
tribute, and to acknowledge the sovereignty of the
PontifiF, while he, on the other hand, guaranteed its
independence, and a representative senate to rule the
state. Such was its position tiU the French invasion

248

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

of 1796. The Congress of Vienna, in 1814, among
its other misdeeds, made over tlic four legations to
the Pope. They became a part of the patrimony of
St. Peter; their municipal rights were abolished,
and, central^ to every stipulation, they were reduced
to the sara'“. condition as the ancient subjects of
the Pope. At first the Pontiffs thought it necessary
to take some steps to reconcile them to the loss
of their ancient privileges. They promised them
laws in accordance with the improved notions of the
times; and that the code of Napoleon should con¬
tinue in force. These promises ucrc never fulfilled,

I'

and a farrago of laws was imposed imjmssiblc to be
understood, and for ever changing; as each new
Pope, supported by his iufalhbility, makes new ones
at pleasure, while the corrupt mode in which they arc
administered increases the vexation of the people. A
diminution of their buithens was also promised, but
they continued as high as ever, without those attend¬
ant circumstances, that, in the time of the French,
compensated for heav 7 taxations. Money was then
spent in constructing roads and other useful public
works; now the whole treasure is employed to pen¬
sion the clergy, and to support in splendour the
state and luxury of the Cardinals.

AND ITALY.

249

LETTER XXL

JnflurrectioD of 1H31.—Occupation tif Ancona by the French.

If a revolutionary spark is lighted up any where
in Europe, the five bursts forth in Italy. The mis-
goverument above incntioiKd is the cause that
latterly Romagna has been the centre of these in¬
surrectionary movements, but there has never been
sufficient • union or strength to secure success.
When the French revolution of 1830 occurred, the
surviving Carbonari and the heads of other secret
societies believed that the moment was j)ropitious to
their designs. The government of Louis-l*hilippe,
desirous of drawing away from France the storm
that brooded over her from Russia and Austria,
excited two unfortunate enslaved countries, Poland
and Italy, to rebel. It proclaimed the ])rinci{tle
of non-intervention. Marshal Suult exclaimed in
the Chamber of Peers:—“ The principle of non¬
intervention shall henceforth be ours; but on con¬
dition that it shall be respected by others," These
M 3

250

EAHBLES IN OEEMANY

solemn declarations satisfied the Italian conspirators.
Central Italy, that is, the northern pontifical states
in chief, with the duchy of Modena, \ras to be the
focus of their movement, and the chiefs bebeved
that they would be strong enough, at least in Ro¬
magna, to cope with the armies of their sovereign,
if Austria were not permitted to pour its tens of
thousands beyond the boundaries of Lombardy.

I have asked Italians for some account of the
troubles of those times. “ I fear,” was the reply,
“ that it will be difiicult to tell any thing worthy to
be recorded. Horrible .disasters, acts of incredible
bravery, admirable instances of self-devotion, were
found side by side with atrocious crimes; but all so
scattered and individual, that it is scarcely possible
to group the events together so as to form a
narrative.”

Discontent, particularly among the upper classes,
was general all over Italy; yet few were willing to
risk life and fortune for a cause of which they
despaired. The actual revolt was therefore confined
to the heads of the secret societies—^many of them
in exile, and a few thousand young men. The want
of talent in some, and of honesty in others among
the leaders, led to every disaster. They roused and
gathered together bands of ardent youths, holding
out to them false hopes of a judicious and well-

AND ITALY.

251

regulated insurrection, aided by the power of France.
Five thousand lads, chiefly of good birth, taken
from their boyish studies, witbdi'awn from the ca^
resses of their inothers, from the pleasures of their
homes, M’ithoiit exj)ericnce, without forethought,
who had reached tlic threshold of life—

rash and nuiiaight, embarked on the difficult and
dangerous path of revolt. Their only tie in com¬
mon vvas the desire of driving the stranger from
their country. Tliey had none to counsel, none
to encourage, none to lead; they cntnistcd the
conduct of their aiti'injit y> n’" i who, either from
timidity or Ir'airhery, hung back when they oiigiii
to have shewn boldness, and neutralised the small
jiower Ilf lurijvessam vtliich ihe.y possessed. They
were eoiifronted by a hundred thousand Imperialists,
veteran soldiers, sn])|)orted hy all the material of war.
The result was such as might have been expe.ctcd.
As soon as Louis-Philippe felt secure on his throne,
he was eager to see an end jmt to the eomrnutions
excited by the revolution of thirty. He deserted the
Italian cause. The leaders had no boldness, no mili¬
tary skill—the youths whom they commanded showed
bravery, but were too inefficient, few, and ill-armed,
to cope with a large, disciphned, and veteran army.
The end was defeat and surrender; then came the
violation of treaties, death, and exile. It would

252

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

strike with pity the eoldest heart to draw but a
slight sketeh of the various misery that befel indi¬
viduals. Many a domestic drama of harrowing
tragic interest convulsed families, deprived of their
noblest offspring; and whether the bereaved parents
were base chougb to disclaim and cast them forth,
or whether they mourned in bitteniess over their
fate, the misery was the same. It is not yet ended:
England and France still swann with unfortunate
exiles—the better portion of the insurgents, who
sigh to rctuim to their country, but who will not in
hardship and banishmcnl^, make those sacrifices of
principle which would at once restore them to rank
and wealth.

The occupation of Ancona by the French is an
event quite distinct from the insurrection of Ro¬
magna, though our vague recollections confuse
them together. Abandoned by the French, hemmed
ill by an Austrian army, the insurgents had sur¬
rendered, and the pontifical flag again waved over
the citadel of Ancona. Still Romagna was full of
commotions, occasioned by their desire for some
amelioration of the laws. The five Powers of
Europe interfered to prevail on the Pope to yield in
some degree to the desires of his subjects. His
answer was an edict that overthrew all hope, and
confirmed the worst abuses—^the superiority of the

AND ITALY.

253

ecclesiastical courts over the civil, the minor pu¬
nishments for the clergy compared with the laity,
and the continuation of the Inquisition. To enforce
these edicts the Pope, helped by Austria, transacted
a loan, and declared his intention of sending troops
to occupy the four legations.

The account of this military occupation is one
of the most frightful passages of modem history.
The j)apal regiments were recruited finm the prisons,
and formed of bauds of San Ftnlisti—the name of
troops half brigands, half soldiers, formed by the
priests in opposition to the.C.'. bonari, whose fright¬
ful history you may find in the pages of Col(!tta.
This soldiery committed every excess : whether they
met with rc.sistance, or, hoping to disarm their fero¬
city, they were welcomed in the towns as friends,
the result w'as the same—outrage, rapine, massacre.
The spirit of the people was roused, and Cardinal
Albani’s army, stained by multiplied acts of barba¬
rity, no longer sufficed for the mastery of the whole
of Romagna. Succour was requested from Austria,
and promptly afforded. Six thousand Austrians,
dragging w’ith them the five thousand brigands
rather than troops, under the pay of the Head of
the CathoUc Church, entered Bologna a second time.
The severest discipline was enjoined to the German
soldiers, and strictly observed. Prince Mettemich

254

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

was praised for his interference; the result showfcd
his secret intentions. The Italian populace compared
the discipline and moderation of the Germans with
the recent excesses*of the papal' soldiery, and it
was hoped that an impression would be made of the
preference, that ought to be given to the Austrian
over the pontifical sway, which hereafter might serve
the fonner in good stead.

When the Pope declared his intention of a mili¬
tary occupation of the discontented provinces, the
five Powers, whose ambassadors had just been urging
milder measures, with ope exception only, approved.
England, represented by Sir George Seymour, ex¬
pressed dissent, and her minister withdrew from the
councils of the other diplomatic agents. On the
other hand, France expressed her approbation in
emphatic terms. The second occupation of Bologna
by the Austrians, and the dexterity shown by Prince
Mettcrnich, however, made a deep impression on
Casimir Perrier, then Minister for Foreign Affairs.
This was a step in advance made by the Austrian
under cover of friendship; but if Romagna was to be
lost to the Pope, he saw no reason why the French
should not divide the spoil, and he suddenly resolved
to occupy Ancona. A ship and two frigates received
orders to sail for that city, and carry thither eleven
hundred men, under the command of a naval

AND ITALY.

255

captain Gallois, and of Colonel Combes. General
Cubieres was named eommander-in-ebief of the expe-,
dition. He set out for Rome, by way of Leghorn, for
the purpose of communicating \irtth the Pope with re¬
gard to this seizure of one of his principal cities. The
French government calculated that GenAyd Cubicn»
would have time to sec the Pope, and obtain his
consent, and reach Ancona before Captain Gallois
and Colonel Combes could arrive; but contrary
winds delayed Cubieres, while on the other hand,
the little French fleet doubled the coasts of Italy
with an exjiedition that epuiu not be foreseen, and
which indeed (xcited general surprise; so that when
Cubieres arrived at Rome he found the French
ambassador in a violent rage; the tidings of the
occupation of Ancona having reached Rome a few
hours before; the PontiflT also was inexpressibly
indignant.

Ancona was taken in the night of the 22-23d
February, 1832. On their arrival. Colonel Combes
and Captain Gallois did not find Cubieres. He held
the instructions of government, without which,
strictly speaking, they could not commence the
attack. They did not, however, hesitate to assume
the responsibility of the assault—a resolution which
they regarded due to the honomr of their flag. The
fleet cast anchor three miles distant from the city.

256

B.AMBI.ES IN GERMANY

A portion of the French soldiers disembarked with-
, out impediment^ and in a short time, by a hurried
march, they arrived under the walls. The gates
were closed; the papal troops would not open them.
The sappers of the 6Gth regt. broke one open with
furious blmls of the axe, and were aided in the work
by some of the populace. The French dispersed
themselves quickly in the city, disarming the posts.
Colonel liaszariui was made prisoner in his bed
before he awoke; and thus, by a cov.p-de-main, the
Fi-ench possessed themselves of the city. At day¬
break the rest of the ^^roops were disembarked.
Colonel Combes, at the head of a battalion, marched
against the citadel. The pontifical troops, frightened,
yielded immediately; the French were received as
friends into the fortress, and the tri-colomed Hag was
hoisted. The people of Ancona co-ojicrated actively
with the French, and not a drop of blood was shed;
the inhabitants looked on the occupation as the
beginning of liberty, and rejoicing and gladness
every'where prevailed. The Italian tricolor fioated
ill all the streets, and over every square. The
French raised the cry of Vive la liherte! which was
responded to by the Italians with tumults of joy.
The governor of the province and the commandant
of the piazza were made prisoners, but afterwards
set at liberty; they left Ancona. The state prisons

AND ITALY.

257

were thrown open, and several ehiefs of the insur¬
gents liberated. The city was that night illuminated,
and the tlieatres resounded with patriotic songs. A
staff officer got upon a heiich intone of the imncipal
cafes, and braudi.shing a naked sword, declared that
the regiment occujiyiiig Ancona was merely a van¬
guard, which announced the liberty of Italy.

All Europe was astonished by this event. Aus¬
tria, in its first movement of surprise, demanded
categorical explanations; at the same time that
the general of the Austrian troops stationed at
Bologna, published a pro^hunation, in w'hich he
declared that the French had occupied Ancona
through the same motives, and for the same ends,
which had guided the Austrians in Romagna. The
Pope gave immediate orders that his troops should
retire from Ancona, and that the provincial govern¬
ment should be removed to Osimo; but this anger
on the part of the Vatican was of short duration; it
listened to the declarations and protestations of the
French government, which had in truth no notion
of favouring Italian liberty, but intended simply to
check Austria, or at least obtain a part of the spoils,
if the Pope lost Romagna. Sad were the conditions
upon which the French were permitted to prolong
their sojourn at Ancona. The part they filled after¬
wards redounded to their shame in the eyes of the

258 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

Italians. They averred that the Trench soldiers,
until the evacuation, only served as sbirri of the
.papal power. And while the government of France
held language openly that made Europe believe
that Ancona, while in their possession, was a place
of refuge fjr the liberals, it by its acts proved to
the various cabinets, that its views were in unison
with those of Austria, Prussia, and Russia. A few
years ago Ancona was made over again to the Pon-
tilf, the French saving their credit by having the re¬
putation of obtaining in exchange the pardon of some
of the exiles of I.iombardy; which, in fact, Austria
only wanted a pretext and a fair occasion to grant.

At j)rcscnt the spirit of revolt is checked, but not
quelled in the jrontifical states. A volcanic fire
smoulders near the surface, ready at every moment
to burst forth in a flame. The whole of the country
before disturbed, the Marches, Romagna, the four
legations, together vv-ith the population of the
mountains, arc bound together by secret a.ssocia-
tions, and wait impatiently for the favourable mo¬
ment when to break their chains. These secret
societies, unfortunately, are bad means for seeking a
good result; and it is to be feared that the country
will never attain a high moral tone and a true feel¬
ing of independence, till the means used by their
leaders ore changed. ■

AND ITALY.

259

Secret associations ought to be particularly
eschewed by the Italians, as tending to foster their
principal defect—their cunning. The violence of.
their passions, wliieh they arc so little taught to
control, is the source of much crime and unhappi¬
ness j but under better laws they would be checked.
The cowardice of which they are accused, I regard
as a mistake: mingled with other sohlicrs the
Italians arc as brave as they—it is the want of
leaders which has occasioned this low estimation of
their courage. No tioo])s will hold together who
have not conlidencc in thfir generals. In all in¬
stances of their dtfeat it seems evident that their
disasters were not occasioned by cowardice in the
soldiers, but absence of military skill among those
in command.

The habit of deception is the wor.st fault of the
Italians; accustomed to look on the dark side of
human nature and to disbelieve in its virtues, they
are ever awake to ward otf covert injury by astute¬
ness ; while the purer virtues, stainless honour and
unspotted truth, belong to few (yet to a few they do
belong), among them.

The evil has been fostered by the bad use to which
the confessional has been put during troubled times; *

Ncllc chicse*—

1 piU astuti del clero a udir eon poati.

260 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

by the institution of a secret police by the govern¬
ments, and by the spread of secret societies. For
.what is held mysterious, concealed by oaths, and car¬
ried on in the dark^ must use falsehood as a shield,
and terror as a weapon.

Little g«Jod, I am afraid, has been operated by
these associations on the character of the people;
and the real interests of the country must result
from the improvement of the moral sense. Mean-
whde, they occasion frequent and partial insurrec¬
tions, that keep the sovereigns in alarm, but do not
advance their cause. It canuot be expected that
Italy should be able to liberate itself in a time of
lethargic peace like the present. And the attempts
of the few who, fiom time to time, are diivcn by
indignation and shame to take up arms, are but
the occasion of tears and grief. They form a band
of hidden and obsemo victims, which each year
that power devours that holds them in slavery. It
may even be doubted whether an Emopcan com¬
motion would give an occasion favourable to Italy.

Gli altrut peccati, e li sommesac, arcane
Parole mormorate ai pi'oni oivcchi
Souo alia nostra liberta fatuH.

Pcrche nuda o tremante al lor corpetto
Ogni alma e tratta dalle sue lattcbrci
£ ossuluto non e cbi si confess
Se gU altri non accusa,’*

Kiocolini f Arnaldo da Brescia.

AND ITALY.

261

We must not forget that the people are demoralised
and degenerate. The present affords no glimmer¬
ing light by which we may perceive how the.
regeneration of Italy will be effected. It is one of
the secrets of futurity at w'hich it is vain to guess.
Yet the hour must and \vill come. Foe there arc
noble spirits who live only in this hope; and every
man of courage and genius throughout the country
—and several such exist—consecrates his moral and
intellectual faculties to this end only.

262

EAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER XXII.

Sorrento.—Capri.—Pompeii.

Sorrento, June 1,

It seems to me as if I had never before visited
Italy—as if now, for the lu’st time, the eharm of
the country was' revealed to me. At every mo¬
ment the senses, lapped in delight, whisper—^this is
Paradise. Here I find the secret of Italian poetry:
not of Dante; he belonged to Etruria and Cisalpine
Gaul: Tuscany and Lombardy arc beautiful—they
are an improved France, an abundant, sunshiny
England—but here only do we find another earth
and sky. Here the poets of Italy tasted the sweets
of .those enchanted gardens which they describe in
their poems—and we wonder at their bright imagi¬
nations; but they drew only from reality—the reahty
of Sorrento. Call to mind those stanzas of Tasso,
those passages of Berni and Ariosto, which have
most vividly transported you into gardens of delight,
and in them you will find the best description of
the charms of this spot. I had visited Naples before.

AND ITALY.

263

but that was in winter—and beautiful as I thought
it, I (lid not then guess what this land is in all the
glory of its summer dress.

Here is the house in whieh Tasso was born—what
wonder that the gardens of Anaida convey to the mind
the feeling that the poet had been carried away by
enchantment to an Elysium, whose balmy atmo¬
sphere hung about him, and he wrote under its in¬
fluence.—So indeed was it—here is the radiance, here
the delights which he describes—^here he passed his
childhood; the fragrance of these bowers, the glory
of this sky, haunted him in the dark cell of the
convent of St. Anna.

I know not whether I should prefer the view of
the bay which his house (now occupied as an
hotel) commands, to our OAvn from the Cocumella—
the scene from his windows is certainly completer;
situated more in the bend of the bay, turned north¬
wards towards Vesuvius, he looked upon a circle
of mountain crags, embracing the sea; our view is
more turned to the west—it is less picturesque—
perhaps more sublime.

The portion of the bay that belongs to Sorrento
is singularly formed. Eor the most part steep
cliffs rise from the water, with here and there a
break, where there intervenes a short space of sands,
hedged round by cliffs. The cUffs are perforated

264

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

with caverns, some open to the air, and clothed with
luxuriant vegetation; others scooped deep in the
face of the rock. Many of them have been enlarged,
and openings made for ventilation, and passages cut
down to the sands, and up to the gardens above.
Every house almost has one of these calate or
descents, down from the heights above to the beaeh;
some cut in the face of the cliffs—corkscrew galle¬
ries—some communicating with the caverns; most
of them are walled up to prevent smuggling. I
believe when the family to whom the house belongs
resides on the spot, at their request the calata be¬
longing to them is opened. One of the royal family
had been staying at or near the Cocumella; the pas¬
sage was opened for their convenience, and the keys
were left at our inh; so w'e had full command of the
descent from the garden of our house. Our calata
is considered one of the best; it opens into a huge
double cavern, which tradition or imagination has
appropriated to Polyphemus. It is large enough
for him and his flock, and within is an inner cave,
where the giant-shepherd stored his cheeses, and
against whose rough surface the luckless voyagers
clung, hoping to escape: the rock he flung to sink
the vessel of Ulysses still lies a furlong from the
mouth of the cavern. In the morning nothing can
be cooler than the sands shaded by the cliff; later

AND ITALY.

265

in the day the sun descending to set behind Ischia,
strikes on the rocks and beach, and they become
burningly hot.

r- has got a nice saijing-boat over from

Naples ; too small, but still a wonderfully safe, good
boat, considering its size, and we have, a viarhiaro
also fi'om Naples, to whom it belongs; he takes
care of it all day, and sleeps in it at night. He is a
youug fellow, and certaiuly never shows any signs
of timidity, but considers his little skiff charmed
from danger within the bay; beyond, the seas are far

heavier; his father lui tirnore and will not let

•

him venture. lie tries to ])ersuadc us to go with
him to Ischia and Ca])ri. 1 am shy of this—the

boat is s(> small; but 1’- and his friend often

sail some miles trom shore, ^bd run down t.j)
Castciaujfu'e; and on calm days 1 go on cx])loring
expeditions into the frequent and strange caves ol‘
the coast, or stretch across to the Temple of Nep¬
tune, and roam about the ruin-strewed shore. These
caverns are mysterious recesses, which the fancy is
excited to peojde with a thousand fairy tales. As I
have .said, some are like ours of the Cocumella,
scooj)ed out in the face of the rock—others, narrow
clefts in the rock, open to the sky. Into the
strangest you enter by naiTOw passages, just large
enough to let the boat pass; they are covered at top,

VOL. IX. N

20ft RAMBLES IN fiEKMAXV

and paved by the waves, which ])lay ilickering with
a tunpioisc tint quite pccidiar and very beautiful.*
The plain of Sorrento, which is sj)rcad on tlie
tojj of the cliffs that overlook the sea, is shut
in all round by a belt of hills—intersected here
and there liy narrow ravines—clefts, as it were, in
tli(! soil, thickly clothed with various trees and
underwood. The plain itself is planted with orange
trees. These gardens being shut in by high walls,
the walks near us are not at all agreeable; there¬
fore, when we leave our terrace, and our beach, and
our cavern, it is in a boat or on mules—the rides
are delightfid. To Caja) del IMonte, which those
who live nearer to Sorreuto than (mrselves can reach
by a walk, and therefore to live nearer has advan¬
tages—but 1 like ^ir greater retirement better; or
to the Cahnaldoli, or to the Conti delle Fontanellc,
a height whence we command a view of the G\df
of Salerno, the rocks of the Syrens, and the long
line of coast that runs southward, on which IVstum
i.s situated; and of Caju-i ri.siug abrujit and dark.

I can only couqiare the difference between these
enchanting scenes and those of other countries

• Mrs. Starlii' lived fur aotuc years at tlir f’orumella, at Sorrento,
tier account of the place and scenery around, is hoth ao urate and well
written, ami for this part of Italy she is ati e.\ccllent jruidc. Jlr.
Cooper, the author of “ The Spy," has written very attreeablc “ Kacur-
siona in Italy the taosi interesting portion of which regards SoiTento.

AND ITAI.Y.

267

which have heretofore delighted me, bj' saying, that
in all others it was like seeing a lovely countenance^
behind a dusky veil; here the veil is withdrawn, and
the senses ache with the cfl'uigent beauty which is
revealed.

Jl'nk 3.

To-day we visited Ca])ri. Tlu; winds here arc so
regular, that with the exee])tion of a scirocco which
will soinetiiiies inteiTene, you know <-xaetly in sum¬
mer-time <»!i what you may de[)end. At noon the
I’oneiilc rises—a west wind, brisk and fresh, which
erisj>s the sea into sparkling waves, that dance,
beneath the sun. This wind goes on increasing till
about fivi* or six in the afternoon, and then dies
away ; at about nine or ten an air comes off from
Vesuvius—a land-wind, in facf—which lasts till
morning. Tims to go to Capri, it was necessary to
set out early to profit by this breeze, which wafted us
southward to the island. 1 do not know anything
more striking than the manner in which, as we
stretch out from our bay, the island of Capri, with
its two peaks and becthng cliffs, rises upon us.
As we ran down towards it, headland after headland
ojtened, and disclosctd the bays between. In two
hours we nwhed the island, and ran into the little
bay in which the town of Capri is situated. M'e
then transferred ourselves to two small boats, for
N 2

268

RAMBLES IN GERMANi'

the purpose of visiting the Grotto Azzurro. We
were rowed under the high, dark, bare, perpendi¬
cular cliffs, and with anxious curiosity I looked for
the opening to the grotto. Tlie mountains gi’ew
higher, the precipices more abrupt and black, as we
vowed slowly in the deep calm water beneath their
shadow. At length we came to a small opening; it
was necessary to sit at the bottom of the boat, as it
sliot through the narrow, low, covered entrance;
within, th(! strangc.st sight is revealed: we entered a
large cavern, formed by the sea ; the hue resembles
that which 1 incntionctl as belonging to the caves
of the Sorrentine coast; only here it is brighter—a
turquoise, milky, iicllucid, living azure. The white
roof and walls of the cave reflect the tints, and the
slnnnnering motion'of the waves being also mirrored
on the rock, tin- effect is more faiiy-like and strange
than can be concciv(‘d. This cave was discovm’cd by
two Englishmen, who went to swim under the cliffs,
and penetrated by chance its narrow ojaming. It
deserves the renown it has gained. 1 cannot explain
from what effect of the laws of light this singular
and beautiful hue j)roeeeds. I’artly it is the natural
azure of the waves of this bright sea, which, enter¬
ing, reflects the snow-white cavern, and is turned as
it were into transparent milk; another cause may
be, that the walls of the cavern do not reach deeper

AND ITALY.

269

than the surface of the water; they j ust touch it—
and the sea flows beneath. The water is icy cold,
and the adventure would be perilous; but a frocul
swinnncr might be excited to dive beneath t'le
paving water, strike out under the cave, and s(!ek for
wonders beyond.

After lingering some time in this favourite grotto
of the Neieids, which they have, since tin; creation
till the jircsent tinu;, kejit sacnal from our inti-usion,
we returned to ('apri, and hired donkeys for our
ascent to the palace of Tiberius, which is situated on
the summit of one of tlv.'- mountain-jieaks of the
island. We had several guides; the woman that
accompanied me attracted me by her extreme,
beauty. She had th.at noble contour of countenance,
that I so particulariy admire ; a beauty at once full
of dignity and expression. The sun Innait bright
above, and tln^ way was fatiguing. AVe elarnbcrtid
uj) through vineyards that clothe the mountains’
sides, and jmdere, or small farms, sown with grain,
and prolific in the huge prickly pear, which grow as
giants. ATc reached at last the remains of the
palace of Tiberius; a part of the walls and many por¬
tions of mosaic pavement remain, as well as the, relics
of a way down to the sea, of very solid yet elaborate
workmanship. The view from the summit, where
a portion of the ruins has been turned into a little

270

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

church, is more grand than anything I ever saw.
.The Bay of Naples on one side; that of Salerno on
the other; with the coast on which I’aistum is situ¬
ated, bounding the Eastern horizon. There is a
peculiarity in the way in which tlic steep piumon-
t«)ries of thf! southern Italian coast abut into the
sea, and iu the hues of ocean, as it embraces the
rocky shores, which those who have not visited
the South cannot conceive; which 1 never saw till I
came here, but which satisfies the mind that this is
beauty; that here, God has let fall upon earth the
mantle of glojy which (jtherwise is gathered up
among the angels!

We had brought provisions with us, and dined on
the sort of platform at the summit; and here, in one
of the ruined chambers, where the mosaic pavement
i.s entire, the peasants danced the Tarantella. On
maiidaud, this dance is forbidden, at least, for the
two sexes to dance it together;—^wdiy, I cannot
gness: as far as we saw, it is more decent than the
waltz. The couples set and turn round each other,
but without touching even each other’s hands, for
these are occupied by the castanets. Two or three
of the women were handsome; but none so attractive
as the w'oman who was my guide.

As we descended, I talked to her. The wretched
lot of these j)oor people is very sad. In England

AND ITALY.

271

wc see and read of the squalid condition of the poor;
and when it is contrasted udth the luxuiy of the,
rich, wc feel deeply, “ That there is something rottwi
in the state.” But while wt are aware that o r
climate fearfully increases the sufferings of the poor,
wc know that to keep out cold and huitger is costly,
and the suffering docs not appear so causeless and
arbitrary as in this fairy island; here, whei’c the
sun in all his splendour kisses earth, which, well
cultivated and fertile, yields ])lcnty; and where,
moreover, the sea is abundant in fish; the heart
rebels yet more vehcmeptly against the hungry
jiovcrty of the hard-working ])easants. Fish and
meat they never touch: all that is caught of the^
former is fak( 11 to Naples. Maccaroni they get on
festivals: at other times, they live on vegetables—
nothing so wholesome as the jiotato—the prickly
pear chiefly. The better off among them indulge
now and then in jmlenta, the flour of Indian corn
made into porridge. Tlicy have no milk ; weak
sour wine, or water, is their drink. One result of
this bad fare is the mortality among the children.
My Juno-looking guide had had four children : one
only survived. Poor little fellow! he ran beside his
mother; and she looked on him with anxious fond¬
ness, for his complexion and figure all spoke
disease.

272 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

To suffer is a different thing under this sky.
They have bad food, they work hard; but Natm-e is
their friend; they are not pinched with cold nor
racked by rheumatic pains. Thus my poor woman,
in whoiii 1 gi'cw interested, had nothing morose—
scarcely anybliing plaintive—^about hcz*. “ Sono sem-
pre alkgra” she said. “ I am gay—we ought to
be gay.” “Siamo come Dio vnole," “We live as
God ])leases, and must not complain. My heart
aches when I remember my poor children noiv in
Paradise; I cry when I think of them; and that
little fellow,” and she cpst an anxious, maternal
glance on him—“he is not well” (heaven knows,he
was not). “Ma, allegro, Signora” —“the Vu'gin
will help us;” and she began, in a sweet voice, to
sing a ])laintive hymn to the Virgin. Poor jzcople!
their religion is hung round with falsehood; but it
is a great, a real comfort, to them. Sickness and
all evil comes from God, and must be borne, there¬
fore, with patience; and the great duty is to be
gay under all, and to sene God with a cheerful,
as well as a pure, heart. I should have liked
to have tried, at least, to have done some real good
to this woman, whose countenance, and voice, and
conversation, gave her distinction. Nothing could
be more simple and unpretending than her talk;
but it had a stamp of heart, joined to that

ANI> ITALY. 273

touch of the imaginative, peculiar to the Italian
peasantry. .

English tourists get very angry at the pcrjietual
demands made on their pursfis during their exct.r-
siou.s. “ Dammi qitakhe co’,” salutes our ear too
often. But, ])oor j)eople, who can wontlcr! J have
told yon how they fare. At Sorrento oranges are
the staple of the place—that and hewn stones; the
j)oor man who has a nnde considers himself com|)a-
ratively well off; he and his nmle earryiiig oranges
and stones, sup])ort his I'aniily. They often work
all night, lading the boats going to Najiles with
oranges, and by day they labour at the (|uarri(^s.
The nobles df* not reside on their estates, and there is ,
no help for tJie [loor; there are many convents, bnt
none, among them are charitalily disposed, so that,
excejit the archbishop, there is not a single indi¬
vidual or community that turns a pitying eye on the
ill-paid, over-worked labourers of the soil; while the
abundant riches that flow from this soil and from tlicir
ceaseless industry, are drained away to Naiiles. The
people are jiartienlarly handsome; even the old ari'
good-looking: they say there is something in the
soil and air particularly good for health and come¬
liness. I have seen no ha/js. Old women, with
happy-looking faces, graced by the placid jiie-
turesque beauty of age, sit at their doors spinning.

N 3

274

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

No one can talk to them without perceiving latent,
.under ignorance and superstition, great natural
abilities, and that heartfelt ])icty which springs (as
our higher virtues do*) from the imagination which
warms and colours their faith. Poor people! how 1
long for a fairy wand wdiich W'ould make them pro¬
prietors of the earth w'hich they till, but must not
reap. Ilow sad a thing is human society: yet it is
comforting, even where ive find the laws by which it
is said to be held together—but which ought rather
to be likened to an iron yoke, pressing it dmvn and
deyiriving it of its native.strength and elasticity—
yet, I say, it warms my heart when 1 find the indi-
. viduals that comyiosc a pojmlation, j)oor, humble,
ignorant, misguided, yet endowed with some of the
brightest gifts of our nature, and bearing in their
faces the stamp of intelligence and feeling. I never
lived among a peojilc 1 liked so well as these Sorren-
tines. 1 hope I am not deceived; but Mr. Cooper,
who sojourned here a few mouths, and Mrs. Starke,
who lived here for years, evidently regard them with
more liking and esteem than the poorer classes
usually inspire.

JONB 15tb.

Our way of life is regular enough, as in hot
countries it always must be. The mornings are

AND IT.VLY.

cool and pleasant : my bed-room window, with a
balcony, looks on the nortbeni mountains; and th^;
tirst o])ening of my eyes is upon orange gardens,
shadony groves, and green’ mountain-tops, wi h
peeps of tbc sea between. At noon, when the sea-
breeze rises, my friends sail; sometin<^-s, when the
breeze is not too stijf, 1 join them, and we stretch
out till the whole of Ca))ri opens on ns, \\'hen 1
am not there they venture further, and they bathe;
the sea is so inviting, that they spend an hour or
two in the water. We dine (and our cook being
good and the viands exeeVlent, tve dine well) at two.
At four or Ib'e. we either betake ourselves to the
boat, and cross the bay to (he Tem))le of Neptune,^
which is at ihe point of the first headland—or
the mules come to the door, and we take various
rides; or, if we at times repeat the same, its beauty
always seems new. We are shut out from walks in
tbc immediate vicinity—as to trudge between high
stone walls is not jileasant; but in our excursions we
find plenty of occasion to clamber up and down the
steep mountain-paths. The hills are bright with
the broom in full flower, and the myrtle begins to
show its stars among its bright-pointed leaves. On
the plains, which are often found near the summits
of the hills—^tbe rocky crags rising higher round as
a hedge and shelter, wheat is sown, and flouri.shes.

276 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

One of our favourite rides is to the other side of the
promontory, where a natural arch once stood, resem¬
bling the I’rcsbisch Thor of the Saxon Switzerland;
it is now broken and" ruined. Once, going there,
my friends tliought that they could easily reach the
sands bciiea^n and bathe, or find a boat to take
Ihem to the rocks of the Syrens; but after a rough
))recij)itous descent of some length, they found the
way grow on them : they were apparently as far off
as ever from the sea, and they returned.

1 spend the evenings on our teiTace. The nights
hcri! are wondei-ful; and I am never weary of
obsen-ing the loveliness of the skies. Twenty-four
,o’clock, a moveable hour which is fixed for half an
hour after sunset, never, in this climate, falls later
than half-past eight. By that time it is night;
but the extreme purity of the atmosjdierc gives to
darkness a sort of brilliancy, such as a black shining
object has. The sea is dark and bright at the same
time; the high coast around does not assume that
gigantic, misty apj)carance, hUls do in the North
diming dusk, but they stand out as well defined as
by day. If there be a moon, we see it floating in
mid-air. We perceive at once that it is not a
shining shape, jilastcrcd, as it were, against the sky ;
but a ball which, all bright, or pai'tly dusky, hangs
pendant. Its light is painfully bright; the ex-

AND TTAI,\.

277

trcmc glittering whiteness fatigues the eye more
than daylight. In the North, we often repine that
we have not two moons, so always to <mjoy the n’se
of our eyes in the absence of *thc sun; in the’ South,
the intcrluuar nights are au agreeable change, at
times almost a relief. .I5y the moonlight we can
perceive the smoke ascend from the crater of Ve¬
suvius ; if she desert the niglit, a lambent llaine
shoots lip at intervals. I may have wearied you by
my various accounts of the evening hours which,
to a lover of nature, are so enchanting. In other
places a sense of tenderness, a softmiing intlnence,
has fallen on my heart a' that time; but here, the
gloiy of 'ibsolute immeasurable bitauty mantl(!s all*
things at tdl limes.

.IiiSK 20.

- Yet not so. Lo! a scirocco comes to blot

the scene. Nothing can be stranger than this
scirocco: at its first breath, the sea grows dull,
leaden, slate-coloured—all its trausjiarcncy is gone.
The view of the opposite shore is hidden in mist.
The near mountains wear a deeper green, but havi^
lost all brightness and cast wierd shadows on the
dull waters. This wind coming from the south-east
is with us a land wind. It rolls huge waves on the
beach of Najilcs; but beneath our cliffs the sea

278 RAMBtES IN GERMANY

is calm—such a calm!—looks so treacherous,
that even if you did not hear of the true state of
things, you would hesitate to trust yourself to it.
At a short distance ffom the shore the wind plays
wild pranks ; here and there it seizes the water as a
whii'lwind, aijH you see circles emerge from a centre,

spread round and fade away. P-went out in

his boat about a hundred yards from our cavern
even there, though in appai’cnt calm, the skiff was
whirled round, and nothing but lett ing go the sheet
on the instant prevented her from being capsized.

Tlic heat is excessive. , Every one appears to be
seized with feverish illness: nobody wishes to eat
.or move. The early setting and late rising of the
sun in this high latitude, making the nights long,
gives the earth and atmosphere time to cool; and
it is thus that the heat of summer is often not so
oppressive as in the North; otherwise it W'ould be
intolerable. Imagine our Dresden length of day
with a Nea])olitau temperature: no one could bear
it and live. But our nights ai-e cool; our early
mornings even chill, and thus nature is refreshed:
only, this docs not occur during the periods of
scirocco ; then, night and day, the heat lies hke a
heavy garment round our limbs. Fortunately, three
days is its utmost, one or two its usual, extent; it
vanishes as it came, no one knows how. Nature

AND ITALY.

279

and OUT human spirits come forth as after an
eclipse; the world revived looks up and resumes
its natural healthy appearance.

.11’NK 23.

We have visited Pompeii. A greater extent of the
city has iieen dug out and laid open since 1 was there
hefoj’Cj so that it has now much more the a])])earance
of a town of the dead. You may ramble about and
lose yourself in the many streets. Ibilw'er, too, has
j)copled its silenc<!. 1 have been reading his book,
and I have felt on visiting the ])lace nincli more, as
if really it had been one - ‘ull of stirring life, imw
that he lias attributed names and possessors to*
its houses, passeiigiirs to its streets. Sueh is the
power of tlu! imagination. It can not only give
“a local habitation and a name” to the airy crea¬
tions of the fancy and the abstract ideas of the
mind, but it can put a soul into stones, and hang
the vivid interest of our passions and our hopes
upon objects otherwise vacant of name or sympathy.
Not indeed that Pompeii could be such, but the
account of its " Last Days ” has ca.st over it a more
famihar garb, and peopled its desert streets with
associations that greatly add to their interest.

280

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

LETTER XXIII.

Excuntion to Amalii.

JuLT IOtB.

1 HAVE always had a great desire to penetrate
into the south of Italy, which I believe to be the
most beautiful country in the world; joining the
rich as])ect of culture to the graces of nature,

all her trildnera^ all her majcACy,

As ill that elder time, ere man was made.^*

If I were a man, I know of no cntcr|)rise that would
please my imagination more than seeking, in this
district, for the traces of lost wealth, science, and
civilisation. These blessings flourished in this neigh¬
bourhood at two distinct ])criods, apparently widely
separated from each other; yet, if examined, we might
find that the link had never been broken. Magna
Grecia was the mother of many philosophers, and
the richest portion of ancient Italy; and there is
nothing violent in the supposition, that Amalfi,
hemmed in by momitnims, and Salerno, almost

Rogers’s Italy.

AND ITALY.

281

equally sheltered, should have presened and ex¬
tended, rather than orijrinated, the trade and science,
which rendered them famous at a time when, all
around, every eifort of human huteq)rise W'as mcrgi il
in offensive and defensive wars.

Amalli was the first republic of ntpdern Italy.
As the ])owcr of the Roman Emiiire waxed weak,
and the transplaiitiiifr of the scat of empire to
Constantinople, placed Italy in the novel j)osition
of a distant neglected jiriivinee, frequently invadial
by barbarians, the fabric of national goviaainient fell
to pieces, while municipal communities remained.
Two of these, from their h ippy position on the
sea, and the great traffic there carried on by means,
of the Mediterranean, were eminently jtrosperous.
Om in the north, Venice, acquired power, and pre-
seiTcd its independence for centuries; the other in
the south, Amalfi, was swallowed uji by the king¬
dom of Naples, after having been pillaged by the
Pisans in 1137—for thus early did municipal rivalry,
the banc of Italy, begin to divide and ravage the
peninsula. It seems to me that sound knowledge
of the results of political institutions might be
gathered from studying the state of society in a
town whose citizens were, when free, intelligent
and coimagcous—whose maritime laws, instituted at
a time (the ninth century) when Europe was sunk

282

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

in barbarism, has served as a basis for every sub¬
sequent commercial code—who covered the sea with
their ships—who almost discovered the mariner’s
compass. What are they now ?

Their intelligence, their capacities, 1 am sure
remain; tlibir affections also must warm their
hearts as kindly; must we not seek in their ]»oli-
tical history for the causes wherefore superstition
and vice have replaced ardour for science and the
virtues of industrious and brave citizens ?

Though I could not fulfil in any way a favourite
design of visiting Calabria, yet we have crept on as
far as Amalfi. It had been my idea to spend a
month in this town, when I could have told you
more of the present state of its inhabitants. I was
not able to do this; so, can only mention the
impression made by the visit of a day.*

* Among modem historians Sismondi and Gibbon dwelt with
pleasure on Uie commerce and pros])crity of Anialfi. It was an oasis
where the mind of the historian reposed, fatigued by barbarous war^
and innumerable acts of cruelty. Gibbon quotes the description given
by Gugliclnius Apulus—

^ Nulla magis locuplee ai^cnto, vestihus, oro,

Tontibus innuoicris; hac plurimus urbe moratur
Nauta maris ca'Iique vias aperirc peritus.

Hue et Alczandri divert feruntur ab urbe
Regis, ct Antioclii. Quis hxc freta plurima transit.

His Arabes, Indi, Siculi uascuntur et Afri.

Hire ^ns est totum prope nobilitata {ter orbem
Et morcando forenst et amans meicata referre.”

AND ITALY.

283

We had secured a boat to be ready for us at the
Marinclla^ on the other side of the jn’oiiioutory, and,
set out ou iimles for tlie Scai’ieatojo, the name given
to the descent from the mountain that overhangs the
eastern sea. Wc reaeluid the height which we had
often before visited, whence a view is cdpinvaiidcd of
the tuo seas. To the west the Bay of Naples, land¬
locked, as w'e looked on it, by the islands of Ischia
and Procida, and the ])roniontory of Misenum; while,
more to the north, the shining edifices of the city of
Naples arc distinctly visible, and ii^he dej)th of the
bay, Vesuvius rises u|) immediately from the shore.
On the other siih^, the eye i hmged down from the.
height of the myrtle-clothed mountain on which we.,
stood, to the sea fai- below, gleaming at the foot of
the precijiires —ve.\ing itself against the rocks of the
Syrens: eastward, the coast that runs in a long line to
the south; the lowlands on which Psestiim fs situated,
with the back-ground of lofty mountains, was this
day—as it almo.st always is—hidden in mist.

The descent of the Scaricatojo is very steep, and
long and fatiguing. At first we made light of it;
but as wc went on under a burning sun, the path
grew more craggy and precipitous: sometimes it
was formed only of a rough sort of steps cut in the
mountain-side, or constructed of shattered masses
of rock; or of zigzags, which grew shorter, more

284

KAMBLES IN GERMANY

numerous, more precipitous, and more slippery, till
„wc despaired of ever reaching the beach.

■ But all things human end; and at last — most
agreeable change!—nT; were seated in a boat beneath
the lofty inaccessible hills that rise almost sheer
from the waiter, with here and there a little break,
where a brief spaec of beach intervenes, and a town
or village rises beside it. The voyage was not quite
as jigrceable as it might have been, for there was a
swell of the sea, and our little boat was dce])ly laden
with people. were glad to sec Amalfi open on
us. Salvator Rosa best, represents the peculiar
beauty of the southern Italian coast; its steep pro-
. montories, the varied breaks of its mountainous
shores, all green with forest-trees, adorned by iso¬
lated luins, and clothed with a radiance which is
the ])eculiar gift of the atmosphere of this clime;
encircled 4)y the lucid transparency of the tide¬
less sea—for it was here that he often retreated,
leading, stnne have said, a bandit’s life,* but most
surely a lover and studicr of nature; his laud-
scape.s ai’c so many exquisite views taken from this
part of the country. Look at them, wherever you
can, and learn in what its loveliness consists. The
landing-place of the town is open, busy, and cheer¬
ful. There is a Capuchin convent most beautifully

RogeiVa Italy.

AND ITALY.

285

situated near tlio sea; it was secularised by the
French, and long served for an hotel. The mother

•

of the present King of Na])lcs often visited Amalf\,
and slept at this inn. The expelled monks gathcivd
round her, and led her to consider it a matter of
eouscience that they should be reinstated. She
obtained this favom’ from her son before she died ;
the C'a|)uchius are come back; and travellers are
turned out from what may Ijc fairly named the most
bcautifid imi in the world. The present house,
however, is by no means bad, and overlooks the
-Marina. AVe obtaiinTl good rooms and a ioliTablc
dinner, being waited on by three sous of the host—
handy little fellows, from ten to lil'tce)i, who per¬
formed their duties ])roinptly and (piietly.

,Vs soon as we iiad rested and were refreshed, we
wished, tlnmgh still much fatigued, to sec something
of the ])lace. M'e visitiid the cathedral, an ancient
edifice, built upon the site of a jiagan tcmjile, and
rambled about the town, which is busy. Though
fallen from the commt.'rcial prosperity it enjoyed
twelve centuries ago, Amalfi carries on considerable
traffic, and its citizens arc wt:ll to do. Tliere is a
large manufacture of maccaroni, another of jiapcr,
another for working the iron of Elba. Every one
can find work, living is cheai), and want is happily
unknown.

286

hambles in Germany

The pajier-mills are picturesquely situated in a
ravine, shut in by lofty mountains, beside a cascade;
it was not so fw but that we might visit them
during the evening. . Two donkeys were brought to
carrj’ us thither. Accustomed to the excellent mules
of Sori’cnto, we w'ere not jirepared for the poor little
crcAtures, with things on their backs which it was
ridiculous to call saddles. llowi;vcr, I and a young
lady who accompanied me mounted. If you have
th»; book, look at the. vignette to “ Italy” of Amalfi;
you will perceive its situation, and how just behind
the town the mountains are cloven and »bvided by a
deep ravine—our way led uj) this naiTOW pass, down
which sped a torrent, whose “ inland murnmr,^' or
rather dashing, was grateful to our ears, long accus¬
tomed only to the roaring of the surges of the sea.

Tne scene was wholly different from anything
near Sorrento. The vsdley and the mountain-sides
were beautifully gi-een and fresh—gi’assy uplands
shone between groves of forest trees, and villages
with their churches here and there peeped out—while
the torrent dashed over the rocks, sj>arkling and
foaming—and dressing its banks, which grew higher
and more rocky as we ascended the pass, in luxu¬
riant and bright verdure. Our first visit was to a
paper-mill, whence a view of the ravine is com¬
manded—and then we clambered up the bill-side to

AND ITALT.

287

tiie road above. Golden evening gave a* refreshing
coolness to the air, and pictiu’esquc shadows to the
hills. It was a scene,—an hour,—when Naturp
imparts a quick and living cpjoymeut akin to the
transports of love and the ecstacy of music—it
touches a chord whose vibration is happipcss. Faint
from excessive weariness, yet with regret*! consented
to return. Night with her stars gathered round us,
and with much difficulty our poor little, stumbling
annuals carried us back to the town.

This same evening we. wished to prej)arc for our
excursion on the morrow; the plan of which wa.s
to visit liavello, and then ^o descend the mountain
to the sea-shorc—take boat, and sail to Salerno, and
after dinner ?o drive back to Sorrento.

Our evening’!, experience showed that the pmu
little asses were, not fit for such an expcdition-i-wc-
must have recourse, to the other alternative, portaii-
fini, —arm-chairs ])laced on ])ol(!.s, borne by two
men; we required three, for the three ladies of the
I)arty. 1’- , and his friend, were to walk.

We were told - but, remember, 1 consider

all that we heard as very problematical as regards
truth—^we had no time to learn the real state of
things, and I relate the story more to show the sort
of wild excuse's the Italians make when they want
to carry a point profitable to themselves—losing to

288

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

US. We Were told that the hearers of the portan-
tini all belonged to a village, Vcttici, some miles up
the mountain—^that when these were wanted they
were sent for the previous evening—locked up all
night at Amalfi, to prevent them from being enticed
away, I don’t why or by whom. We were told that
we had aiTived too late to get these men ; that vre
must engage some of the town’s-people. We ought
to have four bearers to each chair; thirty men came
forward to claim the employment—and the polizin.
begged us to choose twelve from among them. My
friends w'cnt to the polizia for this ])urj)Ose—^the
scene was highly comic. Thirty men vociferating,
insisting, supplicating—eager. Among these was
the master of the boat who W'as to take us to isalcrno,
and his three sous—they were evidently respectable
men, and at once selected—but among the rest
who could choose ? My friends could only laugh;
they pointed out a dozen as possessing the best
]>hysi(>guomics.

We were to set out early, and therefore retired
early. Night scarcely veiled the sea. The quay
had been busy all day, lading ships with grain; seve¬
ral parties of men were still at work. It was a lively
scene compared with the quiet of the Cocumella,
yet so imlike w'ere the tiny barks in the offing,
and appearance of the men at work, lading and

AND ITALY.

289

xmlading vessels, from anything one is aeeustomeil
to that the ancient times of Magna Grsecia, when,
the busy ports sent com to Rome, occurred; «r
rather, I confess, that with me another associati' ii
was awakened. When excited, the mind is' apt to
recur to tlie impressions of childliooil—like sym¬
pathetic ink exposed to fire—the covert but not
expunged jiictures which the soul first received,
revive and become visible. Lrs Avmtures dp. TeU-
mnqae recurred to my mind. I was haunted by tin-
description therein givim of the busy sca-j)orts of
Tyi-(! and Crete. The. broad luminous .s(?a before,
the jutting headlands, the not inharmonious cries of
the men at work, the freepu-.nt tread of their feet,
formed a soi' of picture w'hich it seemed to me 1
had .seen in childhood drawn by the pen of Ft-nehm.
J went to sleep while it still flitted, as it were,
beneath my closed eyelids.

The morrow came, and with it our guide, our
chairs, our bearers—such a crowd. The thirty men
had been disputing all night as to which among
them had been chosen; the conclusion they came to
was, that they would all go. Travellers often (J
among the number) have had the whole pleasure
of an excursion marred by si struggle with guides,
muleteers, &c. It is often necessary to contest a
thousand points, and to resist exactions, and the

VOL. II.

o

290 RAMBLES IN GERMANY

temper gets soured, and the dhine influence of
natui'e on tlie. mind is marred. I was determined
that 1 would not lose the pleasure I might snatch
during my hasty visit- to the outskirts of Calabria,
by toniientirig myself with these ])cople; for being
the one of our party most conversant with Italian,
the. brunt of the battle, must fall upon me. I made
up my mind at once that these fellows should have
their way, and 1 would be entertained instead of
annoyed by evaetions of all kinds.

We had our guide—an erect old man, lotjuacious
enough, with a Acry amusing assumi)ti()u of dignity
toAA’ards the other men. \l’e had our tliirty bearers,
and in addition (recommended by the police, to
keep so large a band in order) tAvo jjolice-offieers,
Avith unloaded muskets and eartouchc-boxes innoctmt
of ammunilicm. Eight nutn devoted thernseK-es to
my chair—the b(^st of the number, I belicA’C; and
away avc went, up the rocky path through the ravine,
’beside the torrent, benciith the chesnut v aods,
climbing higher and higher up the mountain-side,
the bright golden morning sun flinging long shadows
from the hills.

ITie sccnerj' is quite unlike Sorrento; as far as
earth is concerned, it is far more sublime. The
mountains are loftier, and more picturesque, parted
by deeper and wider ravines, terminated in abrupter

AND ITALY.

2»1

peaks, their sides rlothed by magnificent*forc.st-trecs;

and when we reached a summit and looked around

•

-travellers visit Switzerland and speak of the

sublime works of creation among seas of ipe and
avalanches and towering Aljis, bare and craggy,

crested with perpetual snow; there, nature is sub-

»

lime, but she shows the jiowcr and the will to harm;
here she is gracious as well as glorious; she is
our friend, or rather our exalted and munificent
queen and benefactress.*

* “ that moment 1 wati imt fully fcnsihlc tif tlio vast Biijicrionty
of the Italian lundscapCB over all others. Swit/irland nstonislicfi, and
it even ufUm delights; hut Italian iiatiiro wiiia upon you iiiili] yon
come to love it as a fricntl. i can only liken the ])eifcctioti of tlic
Bcoue wc gazctl HjKHi tliis evening tt) a feeling alnntst allied to tniiis]tort;
to the maiiiit't in tvliieli wc dwell upon tiic serene expression of a
belovetl and lively :onntcnanrt*. Oilier scenes have ilie lints, the
Lucs, the outlittes, the proportions, tho grandeur, ati<l even the softness
of beauty ; but these have the character timl marks the existence of a
soul. Tho eirect is to pour a flood of H'usatioiis on the mind, tliut are
distinct from tlie eommoncr feelings of wonder that me excited by
vastness and magnifircnce. T\\t refinement of Italian nature appears
to die^Mnguisii it as murli from that of other countries, as the quality dii«
tiuguishes the scene of sentiment and intellect from the man of mere
interests. In sublimity of a certain sort-—more especially in the
snbiimity of desolation, Switzerland probably has no equal on earth ;
and {icrhaps to this may be added a certain unearthly asjicct which the
glaciers assume in jiarticular conditions of the atmosphere ; but these
Italian scenes lisc to a sublimity of a difierciit kinds, which, though it
docs not awe, leaves behind it a tender sensation allied to that of love.

I can conceive even an ardent admirer of nature wearying in time of
the grandeur of the Alps ; but I cun scarce imagine one who could ever
tire of the witchery of Italy.”—C. F. Cooper; ** Kxcursions in Italy.**
Vol. I.; Letter XIV.

292

RAMBLES IN GERMANY

From the height of Ravello we gazed on a wide
and various panorama of vale and mountain, spread
in picturesque and infinite variety around ^ deep
below was a sunny beach, shut in by steep head¬
lands, and a placid, wide-spread southern sea, bask¬
ing in the normtide heat. The cathedral of llavello
is an ancient, venerable edifice. In the sacristy were
some old paintings of what may be called the sera¬
phic school, such as I had admired at Florence.
Saints, whose countenances show that they are
blessed; virgins, whose gentleness is full of majesty,
whose humility is that of one who, placing herself
last, shall be first. Since those days men have lost
the power of portraying the passion of adoration
in the countenance. Either in venerable age or
beautiful youth, wliat specimens there arc in the
first painters of great and good beings absorbed by
grateful, joyful worship of the greatest and best of
all. One of the most charming of the pictures at
Ravello was an Annunciation;—^thc beaming sweet¬
ness of the angel, the chaste joy of Mary, spread a
halo over the canvas. They told us that an Eng¬
lishman had wished to buy these pictures, but the
Bishop had very properly refused to qpmmit the
sacrilege of selling them.

The unclouded sun shone hotly above; there was
a breeze, however, and the landscape showed green

AND ITALY.

293

and fresh. Sometimes our numerous party were
clamorous among one another, disputing how theii;
pay should be shared; when the confusion grew
high, our old guide—sovereign over all in his (>'vn
conceit—cried, “Silnnziof sihnzio!” in an authori¬
tative voice, and the stream of sound wa.s, for a
moment, checked. They were all well-behaved to¬
wards us. We asked our good-natured sbirri, with
their harmless guns, whetlier there were any ban¬
ditti now in Calabria? .Ml, they assured us, was
safe and (|uict; or if there was any disturhanee, they
were sent, and order w as^rcstored—by what means
1 cannot guess, except that the aspects of these men
were j)eeuliarly jilacid and p(;aceful.

The desvjnt was very ])re,cij)itous, mueb of it
being down Higlit after flight of steep steps, cut in
the rock. It w'as far too warm and fatiguing to
think of walking, and rather frightful to be carried
down. However, by turning the chair, and riding
backwards, we g()t through it without much alarm.

The Ponente had risen as we reached the beach.
The sea sparkled fresh and free. The boat was
large and commodious. The master-boatman had
a great sense of his own respectability and thac of
his sons, and of the excellence of his vessel. He
spoke his owm praises in a sonorous voice, keeping
time to his speech with the strokes of his oar:—

294

RAMBI.es in GERMANY

“ Saretc contcnti di me. Signori. Jo aono un’
galant’ uomo: mici figli sono galant’ uoinini: la
mia barca e buona c bella. Tutti i Signori forcsticri
sono content! di me.'’ •

As soon as we had made something of an offing,
the sails wers set, and we changed our marinaro’s
rhapsody of self-eulogy to some national airs sung
by his sons. Tffiiir voices were good, and our
navigation was prosperous and pleasant.

We were thoroughly tired out when we arrived
at Salerno, which is less picturesquely situated than
Amalfi, the shore around being low. When Amalfi
was a great commercial sea-port, the metdieal school
of Salerno was famous for its knowledge of the healing
art. The students went to study in Arabia and Spain j
and they returned to their native town to dispense,
among crowds of rich and noble patients, the
treasures of their skill. Salerno in those days was
regarded as illustrious among the cities of modern
Italy—^tbe women were beautiful, and the men
were honest; thus Gibbon transcribes the praise of
William of Apulia—

Urbs lintii non est bac delitiosor iirbe :

Frugibui:, arborilnis, viooque rcduiidat; et unde
Nun tibi ponia, nurcs, nun pulchra palatia desunt
Nun species muUebris abest prubitasque virorum.’*

But we saw less of the remnants of this magni-

AND ITALY.

295

licence than even of Amalfi, for we arrived fatigued ;
and after a few houi's’ repose and dinner, \vc set
out in a carriage lioincwards. We drove throngli
a beautiful valley towai'ds jCastelamare, betwf*n
wooded hills. There is a vci’y pretty hotel at
Cava, where travellers often remain several wci;ks.
1 should jircfer, however, the sea-shore at Amalfi.
Castelaniare is a busy tmvii on the Ix'aeh, in the
v(;ry dejith '■*’ the bay. Numbers of villas are seat-
tered • .r the wooded sides of the moinitaiiis and
t* ough the shady valley. There is a good railroad
to Naj)les : the distance, rather more than twenty
miles, is performed- in about an hour and a half.
Castelaniare is a more fashionable risor! :lian
Sornmto. The villas are more tiuinerous and more
elegant; the rides more diversified; the inter-
cour.se with the ciipital easier. It is not so well
suited for a short stay, for the hotels arc all in
the midst of a noi.sy town; and the villas, which
let at a high jirice, can only be taken for the
sca.son—six, or at .least, four months. On the other
hand, for excursions on the sea, Sorrento is very
far to be preferred. Castelamare, at the depth
of the bay, affords only a small lake-like basin for
boating. To view' the .shores, or visit the islands,
east or west, you must first reach Sorrento or
Naples. In the former, you seem happily placed.

296 UAMBLES IN GERMANY.

as in a centre, to diverge at will in excursions on
the water. Sorrento is in every way cheaper and
more practicable for those who arc not rich.

The road from Cestclamare to Sorrento, about
twenty-miles, is excellent, constructed on the edge
of the cliffs overhanging the sea. As we ])roeee,ded
we gladly bailed our r(!tnru to a familiar scene, and
welcomed \ arious gliiiipses of views which wc; looked
on as peculiarly our own. We })assed Vico—half¬
way—and then turning the shoulder of a headland,
rattled down towards the populous plain of Sorrento
—with its many villages, its orange gardens and
sheltering hills—and reacKed our quiet hotel, where
we were gladly welcomed. The Cocumella has
become a home—it is a joy to niturn to our terrace,
to breathe the fragrance of the orange-llowers—to
sec the calm sea spread out at our feet, as we look
over the bay to Naples—while above us bends
a sky—in whose pure depths ship-like clouds glide
—and the moon hangs luminous, a pendant sphen-
of silver fire.

the end.

VOItooK:

Sft^BVEt AND BTAEB, rSIXTXBf, WSXTBrSIABS.